Pictures
by Athenais777
Summary: Pictures are worth a thousand words. Collection of short stories, all involving photographs. Each chapter has a different theme. Spans the entire Harry Potter universe time-wise and character-wise although I expect a hefty dose of Ron/Hermione.
1. Parents

**A/N** _New story. This one will be a collection of short stories/snippets. All of them will involve pictures (the moving ones and a few still ones). Each chapter will have a central theme. While I expect to see a lot of Harry/Ron/Hermione, other characters will be involved too. The stories are not following any kind of linear path time-wise and are unrelated. I will try to update weekly._

_The first chapter is about parents and involves our three heroes._

_Disclaimer: you know the drill... None of this is mine.  
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><p><strong>Parents:<strong>

Harry looked at the happy couple on their wedding day picture. Lily had been beautiful with her long auburn hair and sharp green eyes, the same as his. She kept furtively looking at James, her face radiating elation and love. James only had eyes for his new wife and a goofy grin that reminded Harry of the one that illuminated Ron's face each time Hermione entered a room. His parents had been happy, even if it had been brief. They had loved each other. Love, Harry mused. Old magic as Dumbledore had called it. His parents' love had given him life and had saved it too.

"This is a nice picture of your parents," Ginny told him.

She had quietly walked in the room and stood behind him. He turned around and gathered her in his arms, enjoying the sweet flowery smell of her hair. His hand came to rest on the lovely bump that was her belly. It was now their turn to become parents.

"Ginny?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think of James for a boy and Lily for a girl?"

"I think it would be lovely."

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><p>Hermione looked furtively inside the tent. She saw Ron was asleep in his bunk, still recovering from his splinching. Harry was playing with his snitch, the locket hanging around his neck: he would not pay attention to her. She furtively took the picture out of her beaded bag. It was a Muggle picture of her and her parents. It had been taken earlier in the summer, before she had modified their memory and sent them to safety. She looked at them longingly, wondering whether they were alright in Australia; whether they knew, somewhere in the recesses of their mind, how much she loved them even if they did not remember they had a daughter. She allowed herself to weep until she heard some footsteps. She thought it was Harry and tried to quickly conceal her tears. To her surprise, it was Ron. He gently took the picture from her hand.<p>

"You look like your Mum," he told her softly before handing her the picture back and sitting next to her.

She just sobbed and burried her face in the crook of his neck, letting the tears flow freely.

"When this is over, we'll go to Australia and find them again. You made the right decision, Hermione. They are safe."

Ron wished he could say the same of his parents.

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><p>Ron looked at his wife and his mother looking at an old Weasley photo album. He silently prayed his Mum was not showing his baby pictures again. He came towering over the two women sitting on the sofa and looked over their shoulders. Ron was relieved to see it was not a picture of himself as a bouncing baby but instead one of his parents as a young couple. Arthur: tall and lanky, a full head of bright red silky hair, freckles across his nose, with no bald spot and no glasses, and his adoring eyes firmly on Molly. Molly: her arms wrapped around Arthur's waist, fierce-looking, her beautiful alabaster skin framed by flowing straight bright red hair, a bright smile blooming on her face as her warm brown eyes looked up at Arthur, returning his adoring look. Ron's first reaction was one he often had when he saw his parents together. Two red-haired people should not have had children together, let alone seven of them, all cursed with the same shade of hair and pale skin. Then he remembered how much Hermione loved his red hair. Tenderly, he kissed the top of his mother's head.<p>

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><p><strong>AN**_ First entry. Please let me know what you think. Love it? Hate it? Let me know by leaving a review..._


	2. Old Flames

**A/N**_ this entry is all about old flames. It can be awkward or painful to think about former flames of your loved one. This is all from the gentlemen side and how they are responding to their respective ladies' former love interests. _

_Please read and review._

_Disclaimer: not mine_

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><p><strong>Old Flames<strong>

Rolf Scamander was reading the Daily Prophet as he did every morning while enjoying an early breakfast of slightly burnt toast, strawberry jam, and Darjeeling tea. Over the edge of the paper and the rim of his cup, he could see his wife, his darling Luna, absorbed in the Quibbler, humming dreamily between sips of gurdyroot infusion, looking simply radiant. Her hair was loose around her head and he could imagine it fanned on her pillow as she lay under him.

With a dreamy smile on his lips, he went back to reading the paper when a familiar face caught his eyes: Neville. Neville Longbottom who, according to the Prophet, had just accepted the position of Herbology Teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Neville who had also seen Luna's hair fanned on her pillow. Luna had been forthright about this from the start, in only the way she could be: "Rolf, this is my very good friend Neville Longbottom. We were lovers once, after the war, before we realised it was better if we were just friends. You see, Neville likes me but he fancies Hannah. Neville, this is Rolf Scamander. He is going to marry me one day." The spontaneity was what had made Rolf fall in love with Luna in the first place. She was one of a kind, his darling Luna.

He remembered the crimson shade that had crept on the face that now looking back at him from the newspaper. Not because Neville had been ashamed of his relationship with Luna –Rolf had seen enough over the years to know that Neville truly valued Luna and her friendship- but because Rolf knew Neville to be a rather private person. Actually Neville was a very decent bloke and was coming round their place quite often and Rolf held him in high regard and considered him a friend. It was just that no man wanted to think of his wife's former lover, especially not her first one.

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><p>Ron didn't think his day could get any worse. He had been teased mercilessly by Fred and George about Lavender; said Lavender had sent him the worst Christmas present ever (honestly, the girl had been snogging him for over a month and still had not figured he was easy to please with only sweets or any Quidditch-related items?); and his mum had just sent him to tidy up his room because she had caught him trying to hex Fred. He kicked the rickety desk in frustration and sent a pile of old issues of <em>Quidditch Weekly<em> on the floor.

He had been wrong, he mused, as he looked at the picture on the cover of _Quidditch Weekly_. His day could get worse. Viktor Krum was waving at him while zooming on his broomstick, a broad smile on his face. Red started to fill Ron's peripheral vision. What was it that Krum had over him? Ron let a mirthless and self-deprecating laugh out. Let's see. Krum was rich, famous, a skilled Quidditch player, came from a foreign country, and he had facial hair. And Krum had kissed Hermione. And he, Ron Weasley, was poor, always overshadowed by his brothers or his best mate, a sometimes good but more often dreadful keeper, came from Devon, and only managed a little stubble after several days and even then, it was the same translucent red as his eyelashes. And he had only dreamed, quite often, of kissing Hermione but was instead going out with a girl who had given him the most ridiculous necklace for Christmas.

He loathsomely looked again at the smiling Krum zooming around the page on his broomstick while waving. Petty vindication ran through him as he ripped the page out and shredded it to pieces. He then used his wand to light the shreds on fire.

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><p>Angelina woke up with a start. She was in her bedroom but something felt different. She noticed she wasn't wearing any clothes. As her brain let go of the last vestiges of sleep, everything came back to her. She had slept with George. He had spent the night with her. Yet the space next to her was empty. She got up and quickly pulled a dressing gown on her naked body. She found him in her small sitting room. He was sitting on the sofa, wearing only boxer shorts and a shirt. She came to sit next to him and saw he was holding one of the picture frames that had been sitting on the shelf. It was an old picture of her and Fred taken at the Yule Ball. Fred kept twirling her before leaning her backward and giving her a theatrical kiss. They were both openly laughing on the picture, as if they had no care in the world. They probably hadn't had any then. They had just been two carefree teenagers enjoying their first serious romance. Angelina reached to George's hand and took the frame from him. He looked up at her, his face so familiar, unshed tears filling his eyes. She told him gently:<p>

"I miss him too, George."

"I already liked you back then," George confessed.

"Well, I liked you too George, I've always liked you," she replied.

"I mean I liked you more than a friend then and I resented Fred for asking you first. And after you broke up, it just didn't feel right and then we started the shop and the war broke out and I never asked him how he would feel if I asked you out because..."

He started to let the tears flow.

"Because I thought there would be more time," he finished.

"George, we can't change what happened. Fred is dead." She choked out a sob on this pronouncement. "I went out with Fred. He was my first... a lot of things. But it was over years ago. I will always love him the same way you will always love him. But you, George, you are my present and future. Fred would only have wanted you to be happy."

He took her in his arms and just held her tightly. She saw the smile spread again on his face and it was a genuine one that reached his eyes.

"I know. He'd probably mock me mercilessly me right now, accusing me of becoming a pathetic sensitive git who should rather work on getting you back into bed."

"Now see, that would be a great idea," she smiled back at him as he carried her back to her bed, leaving the past behind in a picture frame in the sitting room.

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><p><strong>AN** _For Luna and Neville, well, I took some license here but nothing is known exactly about their relationship during the war and just after. I imagine a fling, not that either one would have taken it lightly, but they would have figured out it just wasn't meant to be._

_Liked it? Didn't? Well, let me know with a review...  
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	3. Tabloid

**A/N**_ This entry still has a central theme: tabloid picture but it is the same picture in all three stories. It is also a much lighter chapter. Time for some levity. Oh, and when I say there would be a heavy dose of Ron and Hermione, well, here we are.  
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_Please read and review._

_Disclaimer: do I need to say it again? Well, still not mine... Sigh!_

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><p><strong>Tabloid:<strong>

James picked up the issue of _Famous Wizards Weekly_ that had been left on the table of the Gryffindor common room. This rag was usually a complete waste of paper and ink, more intent on spreading false rumours than doing any factual reporting on the lives of famous wizards and witches. However the names on the headline had James do a double take. "Weasleys Reconciled", it shouted. Problem was there were so many Weasleys he had to check the picture to figure which of his relatives were targeted this time. It was difficult to see who the people on the picture were. The obvious part was that it was a couple in the middle of an intense snogging session in what looked like the back of a pub. Upon closer inspection, James recognised the back room of the Three Broomsticks. He also recognised the trademark red Weasley hair. And there was no mistaking this mass of bushy brown hair. His aunt and uncle, his godparents.

He read the picture caption: _Ronald and Hermione Weasley, whose twenty-year old marriage seemed on the brink of ending last month, seem to be fully reconciled and celebrating in Hogsmeade._ James sighed. This rag could print so much shite he mused. And he remembered his Mum laughing the previous month, as a story insinuating an affair between his aunt Hermione and his Dad had surfaced. Dad had just looked embarrassed. Despite the number of years he had been in the spotlight, he still resented being put there, especially when being the subject of a completely fabricated story. And Aunt Hermione had looked majorly pissed off. She had been muttering something about that hag Bonnie Bright, the so-called reporter who was responsible for this complete lie of a story, and where she could shove that bloody piece of rubbish. It had been somewhat amusing, James thought. His aunt was usually so level-headed but there were times she could become quite passionate. He guessed the picture was proof of it too. Merlin, that picture was going to scar him for life!

With a smile, James wondered how much he could tease his cousin about her parents' latest public display of affection.

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><p>In the Hogwarts great hall, Rose was eating her breakfast heartily, piling more sausages and toasts on her plate. Albus looked at her somewhat amazed.<p>

"Rosie, this is scary how much you eat, you know?"

"I'm hungry, alright? I have Quidditch practice next and I need food," she replied defensively.

"Sure your broom will be able to carry you?" Al teased her. Despite all she ate, she seemed to have inherited her Dad's amazing metabolism and was still lanky.

"Shut it Potter," she replied as she slapped his hand.

"Well, he has a point," chimed Hugo who had just sat across from them. "I always have to fight to get any food at home."

Rose had a witty retort on the tip of her tongue when she was interrupted by James who sat next to Hugo and threw a folded magazine in the middle of the table.

"_Famous Wizards Weekly_, James. Really? Is that the filth you're reading?" Rose asked him with a raised eyebrow.

James gave one of his mischievous smiles. Rose was one of his favourite cousins, especially when it came to teasing her. And there was a lot of material there: her hair, her appetite, her boyfriend Scorpius, her colourful language, or her prodigious intellect. Oh, and her parents' habit of being affectionate in public.

"Look at it Rosy. Go on," he invited her.

Gingerly, she unfolded the magazine and saw the headline and sighed. Then her eyes went to the picture. She could see two people in a passionate embrace, holding tightly to one another and quite lost in each other. Her first reaction was that this was one hot couple. Then realisation slowly dawned on her that it was her parents. A vivid shade of red crept up her face.

"Buggering fuck," she cursed.

"Oh dear Rosie, I've always wondered how someone as intelligent as you can have such crude vocabulary in such situations, I guess this is natural mix of your _parents_ characters in you," James continued his teasing.

"What is it?" Hugo inquired, somewhat worried by his sister's reaction.

She passed him the magazine, her index showing the picture.

"Wow, that is some snogging going on," was Hugo's first reaction. "Isn't that the Three Broomsticks?" he asked as he recognised the familiar place. "And... isn't that... Mum and Dad? Bloody Hell. Isn't there any embarrassment they can spare us?" Hugo muttered as he put his head in his hands to hide the crimson colour that had spread on his cheeks and slowly proceeded to bang his head against the table.

It didn't take long. From across the hall, a Slytherin boy yelled at Rose:

"Hey Weasley. Your parents seem to be having a good time at the Three Broomsticks. Something special in the Butterbeer?"

This was going to be a very long day, Rose thought.

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><p>Hermione was waiting for Ginny for a lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. She noticed the looks she attracted and a small smile formed on her lips. Hannah approached her and asked her.<p>

"Hermione, nice to see you. Same as usual?"

Hermione noticed Hannah was avoiding her eyes.

"Yes, please. Ginny should be here in a minute. Oh, and Hannah, I know about _Famous Wizards Weekly_. No worries there."

"Right," Hannah answered before she quickly walked away.

Hermione saw Ginny enter the pub. She quickly found Hermione and walked toward her. Her pace was quick and determined. Her pale face was set in a stony expression and her lips formed a thin line. She sat across from Hermione and just threw the magazine in the middle of the table so that the headline and the picture faced Hermione. She then spoke:

"This. Is. Absolutely. Disgusting."

"Calm down Ginny. I arranged for the picture to be taken. I just wanted to end this absurd story about Harry and me that this... cow Bonnie Bright has been writing. You know how _Famous Wizards Weekly_ is always on the hunt for a good picture opportunity, right? Amazing what a few galleons in the right hands can buy.

"You did this in purpose?" Ginny asked incredulously. "You think anyone gives a rat's arse about what this piece of rubbish publishes?"

"Ginny, most people know this is complete rubbish but Harry seemed to take it personally and in a way, so did Ron."

"If you say so. But I was not speaking about the picture when I said it was disgusting but about what Ron and you are doing on it."

"Oh!"

"How can you snog Ron like this? Wait, don't tell me. Can we just put this away so it doesn't ruin my appetite.

"Of course," Hermione replied with a smile before making the magazine disappear with a move of her wand.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what, snogging your brother in public?"

"No, for taking the spotlight away from Harry. We both know how uncomfortable he is there. But I just don't want to have to look at such a picture ever again."

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><p><strong>AN** _this was a bit different from the format of the other chapters as all three stories were related._

_Love it, hate it? Reviews are the best way to let me know._


	4. Sisters

**A/N **_A new installment. The theme here is sisters._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.  
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><p><strong>Sisters<strong>

"So, how was Hermione?" Harry asked Ron as the latter sat on the sofa.

Ron had just returned from Hogsmeade and looked positively giddy, as if still under the effect of a very potent cheering charm.

"Brilliant. We didn't talk much actually," Ron replied, still radiating happiness.

Harry made a grimace of repulsion.

"I really don't want to hear about this. Seriously! I just want to know how Hermione is doing since I didn't see her. I don't want to hear what you two did. Or do you want me to start talking about how Ginny and I spent the afternoon?"

That wiped the smile off Ron's face. He replied somewhat coldly:

"As far as I am concerned, you and Ginny just look at each other. Maybe you can hold hands every now and then but that's it. She's my little sister, mate," he added pleadingly.

Ron started rummaging through his things and produced a picture.

"Look, this is what I think of when I think of Ginny," he told Harry while shoving the picture in his hands.

Harry took the picture and couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips. He easily recognized a much younger Ron and Ginny, standing in the orchard at the Burrow. Ginny was missing some front teeth and had her red locks held in twin plaits. Her brown eyes radiated with mischief, a look Harry had seen on occasions when Ginny was up to something rather naughty. Ron had a protective arm around her. He had already been tall, as evidenced by trousers that were too short and sleeves that did not quite reach his wrists. He sported an equally mischievous smile on his face. Both were waving brightly at the camera.

"How old were you?" Harry asked Ron, amused.

"Mum took this after Fred and George went to school. It was just Ginny and me left at home. I reckon I was nine and Ginny just turned eight. We had told Mum we were going to de-gnome the garden but were actually planning to spend the afternoon trying to fly on some old broomsticks in the orchard and that's what we did. When Mum found out; you know how Mum always finds out; she asked us whose idea it was. Ginny said it was hers at the same time I said it was mine. Mum punished us both but she had been feeling a bit off since Fred and George left so we just had to feed the chickens. Anyway, it was one of the best afternoons we had."

"Is that really the way you still see Ginny? Plaits and missing teeth? Is that why you can't see her as the woman she is?" Harry felt compelled to ask.

"Well, yeah. I just can't imagine Ginny with a bloke, even if he's my best mate," Ron admitted.

"Right," was Harry's reply. "You do look adorable too on that picture, you know," Harry added cheekily.

"Shut it Harry or I'll start talking about my afternoon with Hermione."

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><p>Andromeda looked at the picture staring from the front page of the Daily Prophet. Bellatrix had escaped from Azkaban. Bella looked quite demented on the picture, screaming and writhing. Andromeda was somewhat relieved by this. It diminished the strong resemblance that existed between her and her sister. Her sister whom she had not seen or spoken to in over twenty years, ever since she defied the idiotic Black family prejudice and chose to marry Ted, not caring the least bit about the blood status of the man she loved.<p>

Andromeda remembered how beautiful Bella had been. Not the delicate beauty of Cissy. Bella had been bold, brazen, blessed with aristocratic good looks and sumptuous black hair. And she, Andromeda, had always been only a pale imitation of her older sister. Azkaban had been unkind, Andromeda mused. It was a fair payment for Bella's crimes and they were numerous. Andromeda hoped her sister would soon be caught and sent back to Azkaban, even though a very small part of her still hoped that Bella could get to safety.

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><p>Vernon was asleep, snoring loudly in their bed. Petunia couldn't sleep. She was still processing the events of the day. Lily was dead. She got out of bed, taking care not to wake up Vernon. She checked on Dudley next door who was also sound asleep amidst a mountain of stuffed animals. She then opened the box in which she kept a few older pictures. Here they were, the last vestiges, or so she had thought, proving she had had a sister. Pictures of Lily. The most recent was a bit over a year-old. It was one that moved, from that freak universe Lily had lived in. It was Lily holding a small baby with a full head of black untidy hair. Her long auburn curls were tied into a loose pony tail. She looked elated, worried, and exhausted at the same time. Petunia turned the picture over to see Lily's flowing handwriting: <em>Tuney, you are an aunt. This is Harry. I still love you. Lily. <em>Petunia turned the picture back to look at her sister's green eyes, the same as the toddler's sleeping in a cot downstairs. She was surprised to see the picture get wet until she realised it was her tears.

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><p><strong>AN **_Here you are. Let me know what you think... Reviews are wonderful you know._


	5. Babies

**A/N** _New chapter. The theme is babies. As with the previous chapter, there is a mix of light and dark material in here._

_Please read and review_

_Disclaimer: I wish otherwise but I don't own Harry Potter._

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><p><strong>Babies<strong>

Sirius welcomed the brown owl and removed the letter it was carrying. He easily recognised James's handwriting and opened the letter eagerly. It was short:

_Dear Padfoot, _

_Your godson Harry James Potter was born this morning. He is a tiny little thing, see for yourself, but a healthy boy. Lily is doing well and I am over the moon. _

_James_

There was a picture accompanying the missive. Sirius was no expert in the matter but the baby looked rather small, nestled securely against Lily's chest. The little thing had a full head of black hair that looked as untidy as James' and he was looking at his mother who was cooing at him.

Blimey, Sirius thought, James and Lily were parents. It seemed only yesterday that they were at Hogwarts. Of course, he had seen Lily getting big over the months but seeing the picture of the actual little person that had been growing inside of her made it real now. What was it with his friends all becoming parents at once? Alice and Frank yesterday and today, James and Lily. And they made him a godfather? What were they thinking? Didn't this child deserve better than a philandering, good-looking, immature, arrogant, disowned, unregistered Animagus as a godfather? Wouldn't Remus be a safer choice? He was the sensible one after all. Well except one night a month.

Bloody hell, he was going to have to be a good godfather because the little lad that lay quietly in his mother's arms on the picture certainly deserved it. Sirius promised himself he would watch over the little one and also make sure that Harry James Potter had an exciting life.

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><p>Bill and Ron helped Harry move Lupin's body. He looked so peaceful in death. As they grabbed him, a picture fell from his jacket. Harry picked it up. It was the picture of Teddy that Lupin had shown to Fleur in the Room of Requirements. Teddy was there, with his tuft of turquoise hair, waving his fat fists.<p>

Harry didn't think he could feel any more grief but the tears came of their own accord, gliding along his cheeks. Ron took a look at the picture and put an arm around Harry's shoulders, a simple gesture of comfort. At this, Harry felt more grief and guilt. For Ron who had just lost his brother and yet was comforting him. For Teddy who had been prematurely robbed of his parents.

But then Harry remembered Remus's words in the forest and a new sense of resolve filled him. They had finally done it, they had made it possible for Teddy to grow in a better world. He was Teddy's godfather. He would tell the little blue-haired baby all about his parents, how brave they had been, how much they had loved him. He would protect him and make sure there would never be such a battle for Teddy to fight.

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><p>Hermione handed Ron what looked like a picture. She had one of the brightest smiles he had ever seen blooming on her face.<p>

"What's this?" Ron asked her as he looked at the picture. He deduced it was a Muggle one since it was still. It was on some strange glossy paper, black and white, and looked like some odd ink stain.

"Take a guess," she prodded him excitedly.

"Erm, Muggle picture?"

"Come on Ron, look again. It's obvious, isn't it?" she told him slightly irritated.

He took another look at the picture.

"It looks like a bean. Or maybe an ink stain? I really have no idea. Help me out here," he begged her.

She sighed but told him:

"You remember this Muggle technology I told you about, the one called ultra-sound?"

"Is that the one that helps you see what's inside your body?"

"Precisely," she replied as the smile spread again on her face.

He frowned for a few seconds and then understood at once.

"Is that… Are you… Are we going to…"

The words escaped him and he couldn't finish his sentence. She jumped in his arms and shrieked excitedly:

"We are going to have a baby!"

"Bloody hell! A baby!"

He gathered her in his arms and kissed her passionately.

"We have to bring this to my Dad, the picture."

"You mean your Mum, for her Weasley album."

"No, my Dad. Muggle technology? Now, that's his kind of baby picture."

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><p><strong>AN** _That's it for today. I hope you enjoy. Please leave a review if you do._


	6. Missing you

**A/N** _New chapter with a theme of missing these people dear to your heart. This is short and the second one is a bit emotional so I ended on a lighter note. I didn't classify the story as angst or drama after all so I try to be careful not to put too much in there and balance the different emotions.  
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_Please read and review (really, you have no idea how happy it makes me when I see these emails pop up in my inbox)  
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_Disclaimer: as if...  
><em>

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><p><strong>Missing you<strong>

What was he doing? Was he safe? Was he even alive? No, she couldn't allow her mind to go there. Ginny looked at the poster she had charmed so only she could see it. It read "Desirable Number One". Fred and George had thoroughly enjoyed helping her with changing the poster rumoured to be Umbridge's brainchild and had a few copies of this altered version in the backroom of their shop.

Harry's face was looking back at her from the poster. How much she wished it could have been the real Harry, here in her room. She longed for these long afternoons they had spent on the grounds here at Hogwarts the previous year, when Hogwarts had still been a safe haven. Only the two of them when he had let himself just be Harry and forgotten all about being the Chosen One. She longed for his arms around her, for his lips on hers, just the way they had been on his birthday. He had broken up with her just because he felt it was the right thing to do. Well, she didn't care about his bloody chivalry. Didn't he know she still madly loved him? She just wanted him back with her. He needed to survive whatever he was doing right now and overcome Voldemort eventually, otherwise she might have to kill him herself for breaking her heart.

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><p>In the days since they had come back to the Burrow, Molly had tried to keep herself busy with little things. Sometimes, she was rearranging the furniture in the sitting room while avoiding the clock with one hand perpetually stuck on lost. Or she would be cooking everyone's favourite food and tried not to burst into tears when she found one of the Trick Wands that turned into a rubber chicken.<p>

Sometimes, she just missed him too much and would spend hours looking at pictures of her smiling son, always joking or playing a prank with George as the partners in crime they were. They had driven her half mad for all their life and none of her other children had given her so much trouble. Yet, no-one else had made her smile as much. She traced his face lovingly and the perpetually upturned lips. She would never forget what he looked like but she would have given all she owned and more to hear Fred's laugh one last time.

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><p>"Another day gone, six more to go," Hermione thought as she crossed a neat X on her calendar. Six more days and she would see Ron again. As she readied herself for bed, she thought it had been utter madness to come back to Hogwarts. It had been a cruel joke that fate had thrown their way. Just when they had finally found each other, they had to be parted again.<p>

She slid in her bed with her two sleeping partners: an old hand-knit maroon jumper with an R on it that smelled faintly of Ron and a picture of him taken over the summer. She put the jumper on her pillow and kept the picture close to her heart. Six days to go and she could return a smile of her own to his lopsided one. One hundred and fourty-four hours and she could put her fingers in the ginger hair that stood out so much on the picture. Eight thousand six hundred and forty minutes and she could feel his strong hands on her. She paused in her calculations to consider what his hands could do to her. She sighed longingly. Six more days!


	7. Resemblance

**A/N**_ Thank you everyone who reviewed. There were some issues with the review reply over the week-end so I am taking this space to thank all reviewers. Thank you also to all who favorited or added this story to their alerts.  
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_This is a new chapter. This one is kind of obvious for picture: resemblance. Once more, I tried to mix a few emotions. I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do leave a review._

_Cheers!_

_Disclaimer: standard one, none of this is mine :(_

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><p><strong>Resemblance<strong>

Andromeda looked at her grandson lovingly. He was sitting on the sofa and his hair had turned a muted blue. He was quietly looking at a picture album. He saw her and while pointing to a picture asked her:

"Gran, is that you on this picture?"

"Yes, that's me," she replied gently. "And that's your grandfather, there, and it's your Mum in front of us. She was about six."

"Mum looked like Granddad Ted," he noted.

"Yes, she did," Andromeda agreed with a smile at the corner of her lips.

He flipped the page and found a picture of his parents. He had heard stories but always longed to know more. He asked:

"Gran, how were they? My Mum and Dad? Harry keeps telling me that they were very brave and that 'I will learn in due time the entire story.'"

He had said the last part in a deeper voice, imitating his godfather, and while making quotation marks with his fingers.

Andromeda couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled in her throat. Teddy was only ten but already understood things beyond his age.

"Your godfather is right, Teddy. You will learn in due time. These were dark times. Your Dad and Mum died to make sure you grew up in a nicer world than the one they lived in. They wanted a world where everyone stood the same chance, regardless of their blood status, a world where they could live their relationship in the open."

"Because my Dad was a werewolf?"

"Your Dad was a very kind man, Teddy. This is what you need to remember. And he and your Mum loved you very much."

He seemed to ponder this for a minute. He then closed the album and asked one last question:

"Do I look like my Mum or my Dad?"

"I don't know, Darling," Andromeda answered truthfully. "Your hair is like your Mum but your face is thinner, like your Dad's was. It doesn't matter who you resemble. Trust me when I tell you this can be a burden," Andromeda added kindly, thinking of her own dreaded resemblance to her late sister. "What matters most, dear, is the choices you make and the person you are in your own right. I can tell you your parents would be proud of the fine young lad you've become."

He gave his grandmother a loving hug and in one instant, Andromeda had a fleeting image of her beloved Dora doing the same as a child. Teddy did resemble his mother.

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><p>Every morning George took a quick look at the picture of his twin brother. It was in a simple silver frame and sat on a shelf that was in his sitting room. Fred was forever twenty and grinning at him. It had been a rare picture where they had not been together. Fred had given it to him as a joke on the last birthday they had shared. Fred had said it would be a reminder that despite his claim to the contrary, George was not the better looking one.<p>

George remembered the joke every morning as he looked at his brother. Every day, it became a little less painful to look at the face that bore so much resemblance to his, probably because time had attenuated their likeness. It had started with the haunted look that appeared in George's eyes and never left. Then a few strands of gray came to mix within the ginger and shortly after, there had been a few laugh lines appearing at the corner of his mouth and his eyes. He needed his sense of humour more than ever to handle two mischievous children and his beloved, but quick-tempered, Angelina.

As time passed, it was easier to look at the picture because as George grew older, he stopped seeing his dead brother each time he looked in a mirror or any type of shiny surface, and the picture became the only reminder of what Fred looked like and George had to give it to him: Fred was definitely the better looking one now.

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><p>Rose loved looking at old pictures of her parents, like the one she had in her hand. As much as she hated to admit it, she admired the love that still fueled them even if they could be embarrassingly public in their display of affection toward each other. She often tried to figure out which parent she resembled the most.<p>

From Mum, she had inherited a love of books, a constant and unquenchable thirst for learning, and an unwavering sense of logic. And yes, it was logic and not close-mindedness. She had also inherited a competitive and bossy streak and somehow had an easier time befriending boys than girls. And yes, she had also received that sodding unmanageable, untamable, extra bushy hair.

Besides a propensity for using colourful language at inappropriate times –namely in front of Mum or Gran-, a deep fondness for chocolate and quidditch, and blue eyes, Dad had passed her his tall and lanky frame. Not always a good thing for a girl. There had been a few years before Al had a late growth spurt when she had been taller than her favourite cousin. Dad had also passed her his insatiable appetite: it didn't matter how much she ate, she was always hungry. It was a bit embarrassing to eat more than your boyfriend, your brother or the two of them combined. On the bright side, she had also inherited from Dad his talent for chess and his sardonic sense of humour, which she deeply needed to survive the constant teasing of James.

She looked again at the picture. She figured her parents had been in their early twenties then. They had just been Ron and Hermione and not yet Mum and Dad. Rose figured she was just a nice mix of both of them and found herself truly glad of it. She even had come to love her dark red bushy hair -like Dad had told her she should- especially since Scorpius had admitted he absolutely adored it. Now, if she could only find where she had inherited that jealous streak that surfaced each time another girl looked at Scorpius…

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><p><strong>AN** _For the last one, I picture Rose looking more like Ron, except for the bushy hair :) She definitely would be an interesting person..._


	8. Explicit content

**A/N**_ First I want to thank everyone who left a review for the last chapter. I am sorry to see the review reply function is still not working as I like to send a thank you to everyone personally but I will take this space just for this purpose. So once again, thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a review. It does encourage me to keep writing and does wonders for the muse to stick around.  
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_Now about this entry, it centers on picture featuring adult content. It features our favorite golden trio (each one in his/her own snippet) and their stumbling, accidentally or not, upon explicit pictures. While this remains a t-rated fiction, fair warning this chapter talks about S-E-X. This chapter is meant to be taken with some degree of levity as there is no angst there. We'll keep that for the following entries ;)_

_Please read and leave a review if you enjoy (or if you hate it, constructive criticism is good too).  
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_Disclaimer: not mine_

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><p><strong>Explicit Content<br>**

Hermione couldn't believe what she was doing. The fact that she was in a library, or that she was looking intently at a book content was quite an ordinary event in and out of itself. The fact that it was the Muggle library by her parents' house and that the book title was _Human Sexuality, an Illustrated Guide_, was not.

Her Mum had had a long conversation with her two years before. That was when Hermione had turned into a "woman" as her mother had so quaintly put it. Her Mum had been thorough about how everything worked and how to avoid undesired consequences but had remained very... clinical. And Hermione didn't dare ask for more details. So she had recourse to something that had never failed her: books. Yes, it was just another topic to read and learn about, more theory to learn and prepare for, ahem, practice one day.

So here she was in a remote corner of the library, perusing this interesting tome. Very interesting indeed! The pictures in the book were rather detailed, making her do a double take every now and then. Oh, this was how boys differed. And that part actually got that much bigger. And that was how the different parts fit together. Oh! She turned the book ninety degrees to get a different view. She was just doing some research, she reasoned, learning about a new topic, just the same way she would learn about a complicated bout of transfiguration. And she just liked to be thorough in all her research.

She felt some heat come to her face. Research? She was positive there would be no O.W.L. in this area. And then the incongruous thought of what her friends would think of her nagged her. She would never be able to look at Harry, or worse, Ron, and tell them about this specific research. Although part of her brain, probably the one governed by these unruly teenage hormones her mother had warned her about, kept whispering that she wouldn't mind helping Ron with homework on this specific topic.

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><p>A book? Fred and George had given him a book for his birthday. Were they as mad as he had often believed? But then Ron saw the title: <em>Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm a Witch<em>. Did they think he really was that inept? Well, Ron mused, the twins had a point given he really was not with the one witch he wanted to be with but instead with Lavender, whom he fantasised about ditching. The good thing in all this sodding poisoning business was that Hermione was speaking to him again. Now, that was something worth getting poisoned for.

He looked back at the book and thought that he might as well open it. He saw the notes in his brothers' handwriting.

_Ickle Ronniekins,_

_Hopefully this will help you get a move on the lovely Miss Granger. Happy seventeenth._

_Fred_

_The book is not only about charming them! Now that you are of age, you can safely check the content on page one hundred and sixty-nine. Happy birthday!_

_George_

_PS: we put a charm on the book so that if Mum finds it, it will look like a copy of _Quidditch through the Ages_._

_F & G_

Was he really that obvious about Hermione? Why couldn't he tell her? And why did he keep being a complete prat? Maybe the book would have some answers. That sounded really like something Hermione would say, he thought amused.

He quickly leafed through to page one hundred and sixty-nine and started reading.

**_How to pleasure a witch_**

_Now that you have followed all our perfect fail-safe ways to charm your favourite witch, you should be able to move on to the next phase, which will involve keeping said witch happy in the bedroom. We will give an overview in this chapter. For more detailed, please consult our partner publication: _One Hundred Ways to Drive a Witch Wild_ (Available for only ten galleons, must be seventeen to buy, discrete owl delivery available for an extra three galleons)._

_This is what you need to know. Witches (and women in general) are different from wizards (or men). They need more attention to more places. To state it plainly, lads, witches are much more complicated when it comes to matters of the flesh. The picture below shows where to touch, caress, or kiss. Yes, lads, you can use more than that part of your anatomy you have always focused on. Your lips, your hands, your fingers, your tongue. All of them are good for something. Please note, because witches are more complicated than us blokes, not everything will work on everyone. Or actually the same thing may not work all the time on the same witch. Just keep practicing using the chart below (we recommend memorising it as it would be awkward to get this out during your one-on-one with your favourite witch). But why, you ask. First, if you have to ask, you must be quite daft. Second, because practice makes perfect. Third, because if you can pleasure your witch properly, she will come back for more. And trust us, it will be all your gain._

Ron looked down at the picture below and almost dropped the book as if it had suddenly burnt him. He took another look. It was an actual picture of a naked female body with arrows pointing to the "right places" and indicated what method to use and how to use it. It was quite thorough for an overview and Ron wondered how much more detail that other book would have. He looked around him to make sure nobody else was around and started committing to memory every of these right places.

A little more than a year later, this knowledge was very useful indeed as Hermione and he finally took their relationship to the next level.

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><p>Harry kicked the foot of his bed. He hated being back at Privet Drive and hated being back with the Dursleys. He would have preferred to go back to Grimmauld Place even if the place was horrid. But then, fresh pain and grief hit him like a wayward bludger as he was reminded that Sirius was dead. He just had to keep himself busy until he would be able to get to the Burrow. He hoped he would be there sooner rather than later as the Burrow was much more of a home to him than Privet Drive had ever been.<p>

He dragged his trunk to his bed and started emptying it, putting his clothes in the small wardrobe. He accidentally dropped a pair of socks and it landed under his bed. He crouched to retrieve it and was surprised to find what looked like magazines under his bed. He grabbed them and the pair of socks. As he sat back on the bed, he looked at the magazine again and was quite shocked by the content. It was full of pictures of scantily clad women, in very suggestive poses. And while Harry was certainly no expert in the matter, he knew enough to see the size of their breasts looked abnormally large. He had a very good idea of who had left those there. Now, how had Seamus called that kind of magazine? Ah yes, the type you read with one hand as your other is, well, occupied. As he chuckled at he remembered his dormmate's joke, Harry quickly wished to be Obliviated to permanently erase the image that had just formed in his brain of Dudley doing just that.

He gave a shudder of repulsion, then took the magazines and knocked on Dudley's bedroom door. He certainly didn't want to catch his cousin in any kind of awkward situation. Argh, the image again! Dudley opened the door, looking his usual surly and bullish self. He barked at Harry:

"What d'you want?"

"Good afternoon to you too. You left those in my bedroom," Harry replied while shoving the magazines into Dudley's chest. "What else did you leave in my room?" asked Harry suspiciously as he suddenly thought of what Dudley might have done there and made a mental note of getting a fresh set of sheets and thoroughly washing his bedding.

"Those aren't mine," Dudley replied defensively while shoving the magazines back at Harry.

"Har Har! Are you telling me your Mum is reading this kind of smut?" Harry countered sarcastically.

He saw Dudley blush to a shade that would have put Ron to shame. Dudley was caught but tried the offensive instead.

"Oi, leave Mum out of this. If she hears about this, I'll tell her you brought those in."

"Frankly, Bid D," Harry put as much contempt in the name as he could muster, "I couldn't care less. So I guess I can keep those and put them in the rubbish bin, right?"

Dudley looked at him as if Harry had condemned him to a lifetime of grapefruit diet. It was as good an admission as there could be. Harry smiled a small smile of victory. He handed the explicit magazines back to Dudley who took them silently. Harry turned around and was about to go back to his room but then turned around and told his cousin:

"You know, if it were mine, it would most likely be a wizard magazine. In those, pictures move. Imagine the difference..."

It took the same time for Harry to get back to his room and open the door as it did for Dudley to process this bit of information. As Harry closed his door, he heard an avid Dudley inquire:

"The pictures really move?"

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><p><strong>AN**_ OK, this one wasn't serious at all but I needed an interlude from the heavier emotions of some of the previous entries. It was actually quite challenging to write some parts of this chapter and keeping it t-rated but I think I managed. I hope you enjoyed. If you did, you know the drill, please leave a review._

XOX


	9. Friends

**A/N**_ Here is a new chapter. Once again, thank you for all the reviews and everyone who alerted/favorited this story._

_This entry is about a common theme for pictures: friends. Friendship is another central theme in all HP books and Harry couldn't have done a tenth of what he did without his friends._

_On another note, I am starting to run out of ideas for more themes (I have about 3 more so far) so if you have any suggestions, please let me know. I would be especially interested in writing something about Draco Malfoy post DH (I was going to include him in there but it didn't fit the way I wanted). Draco is an interesting character, who probably would be greatly scarred mentally after DH. I just hope I could do him justice. I am open to suggestions.  
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_Please read and enjoy and leave a review if you can (they do make my day, seriously!)_

_Disclaimer: Standard stuff, none of this is mine_

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><p><strong>Friends<strong>

Remus looked at the old familiar picture. Here there were the four of them in happier times, the Marauders, the four inseparable friends. James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus. Prongs, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Moony. The stag, the dog, the rat, and the werewolf.

He remembered the pranks James and Sirius would play. They hadn't always been good to others (especially Snape, Remus thought with a grim smile) but they had accepted him, Remus Lupin, even when they had discovered his condition, his furry little problem, as James had so eloquently put it. They had gone to the length of becoming unregistered Animagi just to stay with him. They might have been pranksters, jokesters, immature prats at times, but Remus had always believed their heart was in the right place.

He had always thought he would be the first to go. He couldn't delude himself after all: he was a werewolf. That was until two weeks ago. That was until two weeks ago. Now James and Peter were dead, as was dear Lily, who had always been so kind to him, who had been such a beautiful soul. And Sirius, the person whom he had thought of as one of his dearest friends was the cause and was now locked up in Azkaban. He was the last one of the Marauders, the last friend standing. What a tragic waste!

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><p>It was starting to get really cold outside and the snow was falling at a steady pace. Harry had lost track of the days but thought they were now in December. He looked back inside the tent and noticed Hermione had fallen asleep at the small kitchen table. He could leave his post for a few minutes. He trusted Hermione's enchantments. They were the reason nobody could find them, including Ron, Harry though mirthlessly, even if Ron was indeed trying to come back as Harry thought he would.<p>

He walked inside toward her. Her head lay over her folded arms and her bushy hair was splayed around her on the table. She was holding a picture in her hand. He took the picture and looked at it. It was a picture of her with him and Ron, taken earlier this summer on his seventeenth birthday. Ron was in the middle; his right arm on Harry's left shoulder and his left arm around Hermione's waist. She also had put an arm around Ron's waist. Harry couldn't help noticing the covert glances that Ron would give Hermione, nor the bright smile that illuminated Hermione's face. It had finally become obvious over the summer that the relationship between his two best friends was evolving into more than friendship, both at last admitting their feelings for the other, even if not openly. Yet, they had decided to put this on hold to come with him, to help him, the supposed Chosen One. They were his true friends, having gone through so much together, sticking with him. Well, Hermione had at least, Harry thought bitterly. She had been the only one, his only friend left, loyal to a fault, even if it had resulted in her heart being broken into a thousand pieces.

He tried to gently wake Hermione to tell her to lie down in one of the bunks so she could get some proper rest. She didn't stir, completely exhausted that she was. Gingerly, he picked her up. He noticed the tear tracks along her cheeks. She didn't want him to see her cry, but he knew she still wept every night. Slowly, he carried her, surprised by how light she was. He would have to make sure she ate more. He heard her mutter something in her sleep, something that sounded like "Ron" and a fresh wave of guilt rolled over him. He deposited her on the bunk and pulled the covers on her while murmuring "I'm sorry" to her.

Harry resumed his post at the entrance of the tent. He thought again of that horrible rainy evening, when Ron had pointed out the obvious and all his shortcomings as a leader, when Ron had left. He still loathed Ron for abandoning them. Yet, he couldn't help remembering how Ron had had his hand on his shoulder on that picture, that Ron had been his first real friend, that Ron had given him not only his friendship, but also a surrogate home and a surrogate family. Part of him also thought that Ron wanted to come back, maybe not to him, but certainly to Hermione. He checked the Marauders' Map again, happy to see Ginny, Neville, and Luna together. However, there was no sign of Ron, the same way there hadn't been any since that fateful night. Ron had not returned to Hogwarts. Despite all, Harry couldn't help worrying, or noticing how much he missed his best friend.

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><p>Luna admired her work with a certain pride. Mum had always encouraged her to express herself in whatever fashion felt like the right one, be it singing, cooking, or painting. And Daddy just kept reinforcing this. He had been delighted to hear she had friends. But then Daddy would have been happy whenever she was happy.<p>

She looked again at the picture she had drawn. She saw five faces looking back at her.

Harry like her had lost a parent. Actually he had lost both his parents, and sadly his godfather. Harry had chosen to spend time with her when he could have been with much cooler people. He had just invited her to this Christmas party where she had had a wonderful time. Harry was a very nice boy.

Ron was very funny although he could sometimes be cruel. She didn't understand how Ron could miss so much. Hermione liked him. He liked Hermione. Yet, they only seemed to be able to hurt each other rather than admit what they felt. Luna suspected Nargles were at play.

Hermione was so different from her. She was a bit narrow-minded, a bit closed in her vision of the world. Yet, Hermione wasn't afraid of fighting and was incredibly smart. She was also a fierce and very loyal friend. Now, if the Nargles could leave her alone, maybe she could broaden her horizons and finally get together with Ron.

Ginny had always been nice to her. Ginny wasn't like the other girls. She didn't cry or do catty things. Ginny was genuine in everything she did, including her friendship. She also knew how to defend herself. Ginny was quite gifted with the bat-bogey hex as she had demonstrated when a Slytherin boy had called her Looney Lovegood. Luna really loved Ginny and often wished she could be her sister.

Neville was like her. He was always the odd one. Neville had also lost his parents even if they weren't dead. But she had seen how much Neville could be brave. He had fought the longest next to Harry at the Department of Mysteries. Neville was one of the best friends she had ever had.

Friends. She had written the words hundreds of time in a gold chain pattern. Friends. She had not had any before. Daddy had said it was because of Wrackspurts. Somehow, Luna thought it might be a little bit more. She knew she was slightly different from the rest. Yet the five friends looking back at her liked her just the way she was and that was why they were true friends.

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><p><strong>AN**_ I struggled so much with the Harry/Hermione scene and how Harry felt about Ron. I tried to convey the deep rooted friendship, the fact that despite his being angry with Ron, Harry still misses him. Like love relationships, friendships can take some hits and recover (as the Harry/Ron friendship does in DH). Let me know how you find it._


	10. Dance

**A/N** _A new entry. This one is about dance. Short one and funnily enough, Hermione is in all three snippets in one way or another._

_Please read and review, I hope you enjoy._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter_

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><p><strong>Dance:<strong>

"By the way Ron, we were able to save a few pictures from the wedding," Fleur told him in her strong French accent. "Look, I have one for you. It is you and Hermione dancing. You make a lovely couple."

Her comments sliced at him as Ron looked at the picture. Here they were twirling together. Hermione was radiant in her dress. She was actually smiling and he noticed on the picture, touching him a lot. He remembered how lovely she had been in his arms. How she had just naturally fit in there. How he had never wanted to let her go. And he knew how he wanted to hold her again this way, to feel her wonderful hair tickle his face or her small and slender hand in his larger one. He needed to see her, hold her, touch her.

And just like this, all the bile that had been in his stomach came back to the surface. He had no right to accept his brother and sister-in-law's hospitality when he had deserted his best friend and the girl he loved madly. He was a bloody spineless idiot. Yes, the locket had been insinuating a lot of things but now that he was removed from it, things were clear again in his mind. He looked at the picture again, longing again for the way her body had fit against his as they had danced together. He promised himself he would find Harry and Hermione back. Hopefully, they would take him back. Hopefully, he would be able to dance with Hermione again.

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><p>Molly had considered Hermione like a second daughter for a long time, even before she had become her daughter-in-law. But they shared another special bond. Both women loved looking at old picture albums, just as they were doing at this moment, huddled together on the sofa in the Burrow sitting room. Hermione examined a picture of a young couple dancing in perfect harmony. Both had flaming ginger hair and to the untrained eye, they could have looked like Ron and Ginny, wearing old fashion dress robes. But there was nothing brotherly in the way they held each other and danced together.<p>

"Molly," Hermione asked, "is that you and Arthur dancing on that one?"

"Oh yes, dear. I remember that one. It was Fabian's birthday party. One for the ages too. My brothers did enjoy putting good parties, even if we were at war. They always said we needed to still enjoy a good time," Molly reminisced affectionately.

"You did make a lovely couple, Arthur and you, dancing," Hermione remarked as she saw how the young couple had been swaying in tune to the music and to each other, like no-one else was there.

Molly gave her a bright smile.

"We were newlyweds. I know how much you hate Celestina Warbeck, Hermione. Oh, no need to pretend otherwise," Molly cut humourously as Hermione started to open her mouth to deny what was actually the truth. "As I said, I know how much you dislike Celestina Warbeck, dear, but it was one of her songs. You know she's my favourite singer. And Arthur, he is such a good dancer. We had a very good time that evening, very good indeed."

Hermione admired the affection and enduring love the older couple shared. She was surprised Molly could remember all these details after more than thirty years. She had to ask the older witch.

"This is really amazing how you remember all these little details. If you don't mind asking, when was this?"

"Oh it's easy to remember. Let me just tell you that Bill was born exactly nine months after that evening," Molly answered cheekily.

"Oh," was the only answer Hermione could mutter.

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><p>Rose let out a sigh of exasperation. She had been working in the library for the last four hours, perusing old copies of the <em>Daily Prophet<em> and other archives to complete an essay on the return of Voldemort and the events leading to it. Albus looked at her with sympathy before telling her:

"Trust me, I know how it feels to write an essay for History of Magic mostly about your parents. Why do you need we need to do so much research?"

"Because I love to be thorough," she muttered back as she opened another set of archives about the events of the Triwizard Tournament. She leafed through a few pages under a picture caught her eye under a header reading "Hogwarts Yule Ball". She showed it to Albus who looked at it:

"Al, does it look like my Mum here on the picture, in the back?"

Al took a look at the picture which showed a group of students in their nicest dress robes, dancing what looked like a waltz. In the back of it, there was a girl in a pretty periwinkle dress, her hair tied in an elegant knot, with a broad smile on her face as a tall dark hair older boy twirled her around.

"I don't know. Can your Mum's hair really look like this? I mean, don't take this the wrong way Rosie, but how many hours and charms would it take for your hair to look like that?" Al asked cheekily.

This earned him a light punch in the arm and stern glare from Madam Pince, the librarian, as he yelped in pain. With a smirk, Rose whispered:

"Sleekeasy Hair Potion, loads of it, along with a few charms would do the trick. I'm sure it's Mum. Look who's with her."

"Is that Viktor Krum? As in Quidditch genius Viktor Krum? Bloody Hell, your Mum has gone out with Viktor Krum?"

"Keep your voice down Al," she chastised him as they received another disapproving look from Madam Pince. "I reckon she did and it looks like they had a good time. Look at them dance."

"Yes, I see that. Well, how is that going to help us with our essay? The rise of Voldemort coincided with the Yule Ball, during which Rose's Mum had a really good time dancing with a world famous Quidditch player," Al added sarcastically. "Can we go back on topic please? It's almost closing time and we need to hand this tomorrow."

"Alright," Rose acquiesced. But she smiled as she finally understood the root of the only Quidditch-related disagreement she had with Dad.

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><p><strong>AN** _I know it was short but let me know what you think. Next update should be up in a week or so and will be on jealousy_.


	11. Jealousy

**A/N** _This is a new entry. This one centers around the green-eyed monster known as jealousy. I want to thank Ferrari08 for giving me the idea about Malfoy. I was looking for a snippet with Malfoy and jealousy toward Harry mentioned (something which Draco probably has in spades). So thank you!_

_Please read and review (I'm not going to beg, but please, pretty please, with sugar on top)_

_Disclaimer: yeah, not mine. Deep sigh!_

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><p><strong>Jealousy<strong>

It was eerie to be in the bedroom of his old nemesis. Black had obviously done everything to offend his mother and his heritage with the cheap display of Muggle pictures of scantily clad women. The man had also lived like a pig as attested by the advanced state of untidiness the room was in. Severus started rummaging through the drawers, searching for he knew not what. He had loathed the man with a passion but he had seen too many useless deaths to rejoice in the demise of his former enemy.

His eyes stopped on an envelope that had been tucked away in a drawer. He recognised the handwriting. It had been etched in his brain. Lily. He opened the letter feverishly, quickly reading Lily's lovely penmanship, learning about her days in hiding. His eyes rested on the signature. Lots of Love. Lily. He then saw the picture. Lily looking proudly at a little boy zooming back and forth on a broom. And he could see the legs of Potter. Potter who had always been what he, Severus, longed to be but had never been: doted on by loving parents, popular, with a tight group of friends. Potter who had held the lovely Lily in his arms. Potter who had kissed her good night. Potter who had fathered the brat for whom Lily had sacrificed her life. He took the picture and ripped it in half, taking the side with the bright and proud smile of Lily and leaving the one with the brat and his father on the floor. He also ripped the bottom of the letter. He could keep the illusion that the love had been for him.

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><p>Draco Malfoy took a sip from his fine china cup, savouring the complex flavours of the tea. He took the newspaper and started reading. He had never set much store by the <em>Daily Prophet<em> as he knew how easily it was to manipulate what was published in it. He went to the announcement page. Not that he cared, really, but he knew his mother would nag him if another one of his supposed friends had got married or engaged. She was pressing him to find a wife. He was a Malfoy after all. Draco wondered if the woman had learnt anything? It was all about Potter now.

Right on cue, as he thought of his old enemy, he saw the picture announcing a celebration for the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts featuring the three people he loathed. There they were, the so-called golden trio. Potter, Saint Potter, always in the spotlight, always getting the attention when really there was nothing special or exceptional about him. Draco ignored the nagging voice telling him that a Voldemort less world was a much better one and that he wished he had had the bollocks to fight. Then there was Weasley, the faithful acolyte, towering over the other two. How was it that Weasley was now a name that got you special recognition when being a Malfoy only attracted dirty looks and sneers? Probably because they were so bloody many of them, with their foul-coloured hair and vacant looks. Draco still ignored the voice that reminded him that, unlike him, the Weasleys had fought valiantly and paid an enormous price in the war. And then there was the mudblood Granger. He probably was supposed to refer to the bushy hair girl as Muggle-born. He had hated her for having better marks than him, earning him scorn from his father. He had despised her supposedly brilliant intellect: how was one supposed to be the brightest witch of her age but still live with hair like that and worst of all, go out with Weasley? He continued ignoring the voice telling him that he wished someone had loved him enough to be willing to die for him or cry for him the way Weasley had for Granger during that horrible day.

He loathed the three of them. No, he was not envious of the strong friendship or palpable love that existed between them, that he had never known with anyone. And no, he wasn't jealous of the courage they had displayed, overcoming losses, torture, and even death to fight for their convictions and defeat Voldemort while he, Draco, had cowered in fear. For Merlin's sake, they had even saved his life. No, he just despised them and that had nothing to do with jealousy. Nothing at all. Now if this nagging voice in his head could just keep quiet.

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><p>Ron couldn't believe it. He had almost been ready to believe Harry, after the detention they had served with Snape, pickling rats brains, probably the foulest idea Snape had come up with so far for a detention. But there it was staring at him: a picture of Harry as a Triwizard Champion on the front page of the <em>Daily Prophet<em> with a full article by Rita Skeeter continuing on page two, seven and eight. Git! And then there was the comment about Hermione. Was Harry really being more than a friend to her? Why did it bother him? Well, he knew why. Harry already had the fame, the money, and now he would get more of Hermione. That was just wrong. Just as he started seeing some red in his peripheral vision, Hermione came and sat across from him.

"Come on Ron, don't tell me you're reading this rubbish. This Rita Skeeter is a complete cow."

"Is that so?"

"Don't you remember all the rubbish she wrote about your Dad after the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Yeah, but look at Harry," he answered testily while shoving the paper in her hands and pointing at the picture of Harry. "It looks like he enjoys being on the front page."

Hermione sighed, somewhat exhausted by her two best friends stubbornness.

"Ron, Harry misses you, even if he wouldn't admit it under torture. And I know you miss him. And I am really tired of going back and forth between the two of you. Can you just put your jealousy aside for a minute and go and talk with him?"

Ron just ignored her request and fired back:

"I am not jealous."

"Oh Ron, really? It's hard to believe. Besides, if that makes you feel any better, I think Harry is jealous of you."

He was ready for a retort when his brain registered her comment and he just asked her:

"He is?"

"Of course. You two can really be thick at times."

"Oi!"

"Look. You have everything he has never had: a family that loves you, siblings, a loving home. You have the ability to be yourself without having every one of your moves scrutinised. Harry has never had that."

Ron was flabbergasted by her comments. Harry, the famous Harry Potter, was jealous of him? Insignificant Ron Weasley. Always average, always in the shadows of his brothers or Harry. He finally found his voice and asked Hermione uncertainly:

"You really think so?"

"I know so. Harry has never desired fame or money. He just wants to be himself and craves a family and a home like what you have," she repeated with conviction.

"I've never thought of it this way," he finally admitted quietly. "I've never noticed that."

"Well, that wouldn't be the only thing you are overlooking," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"What?" he asked her absentmindedly still lost in her revelations.

"I said you also are a much better chess player and your hair is much nicer," Hermione covered up and quickly lowered her eyes as she realised what she had just said.

Ron thought he had misheard what she had said. And what was that pretty pink colour on her cheeks? It hadn't been there a second ago. An awkward silence passed between them. Ron coughed surreptitiously and finally asked her:

"So, the stuff about you and Harry in Skeeter's article, it's complete rubbish too, right?"

"Seriously Ron. Who would believe that?"

"Yeah, I know, she's a bloody cow and this is completely mental, right?"

"That's right. Completely mental," she repeated. "Harry and I are friends and that's it. I think he actually fancies Cho Chang."

For some unknown reason, Ron's heart seemed to beat faster as she said that and some of the red that had been clouding his vision disappeared. He smiled wanly at her and was happy to see her return his smile. They then saw Harry enter the room. Ron wasn't ready to apologise to his friend but some of the resentment he had felt toward Harry had dissipated. He just needed to sort through things first. But most important, his brain screamed, was that Harry and Hermione were just friends.

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><p><strong>AN** __For Snape, not sure how well it came out. Snape is such a complex character, embittered by life and losses, but yet staying faithful to his true love until the end.  
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_As for Harry being jealous of Ron, this is something I wanted to show. While Harry is probably not as much the jealous type as Ron is, he still shows some propensity for the green-eyed monster in the books every now and then. But he is still an extraordinary person. So hurray for Harry. And the snippet was the occasion for a nice tender moment between Ron and Hermione (good thing she is perceptive enough for the three of them.)_

_Next chapter should be up in a week. Need to find ideas for it, so please feel free to suggest some._


	12. What could have been

**A/N **_Hello everyone. A big thank you to all who have left reviews for the last chapter. For those who liked Draco in last chapter, there is more Malfoy (a different one) in this chapter.  
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_The theme in this short entry is "what could have been". This is another chapter with emotions a bit all over the map. Sometimes we are glad things didn't go in another direction and sometimes we really wish they had gone differently. There is all of that in this chapter._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy. If you do, please review._

_Disclaimer: honestly, do I have to say it again? Not mine.  
><em>

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><p><strong>What Could Have Been<strong>

Narcissa Malfoy looked at the photograph on the front page of the Daily Prophet. It came as no shock to her that it was another one of Harry Potter, this time accompanied by Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic. Shacklebolt was shaking Potter's hand and extolling the latest exploits of the Boy Who Lived.

The Boy Who Lived thanks to her she thought mirthlessly. She wondered what would have happened if she had not taken the greatest risk of her life and lied to the Dark Lord. Shacklebolt would certainly not be Minister of Magic, nor would Arthur Weasley be Senior Undersecretary. Both would most likely be in hiding or even dead. She certainly would not be known as the greatest traitor amongst the few remaining Deatheaters nor would she still be sneered at by other blood traitors and Mudbloods because she was a Malfoy née Black. Lucius would probably not drink so much, despairing over the loss of his former glory. No, Lucius would probably be enduring another bout of torture for having displeased the Dark Lord in one way or another. And Draco, her beloved Draco? Her only son would most likely not be this moody teenager who spent most of his days locked up in his room, softly crying when he thought nobody was listening. Draco would most likely be dead and she would never have seen him again. Narcissa then knew that despite all, she would make the exact same decision if it was to be done again.

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><p>Hermione could hear Ron reading a story to Rose and Hugo. The children were enrapt in their father's storytelling and were for once quiet. A smile formed on her lips. Ron was a good father, there was no doubt.<p>

She opened the drawer of her bedside table. There they were, baby pictures of her children. She had known love before having them, she mused thoughtfully as she took a picture of a baby Rose, her blue eyes wide open, looking curiously at the world, her curly red hair framing her full face perfectly. Yes, Hermione had known love but nothing to the one she came to feel when she held the little bundles in her arms she thought as she looked at a baby Hugo waving fat little fists at the camera, a happy smile on his face and in his brown eyes.

She then found the third picture. It was only the print-out of a Muggle sonogram. Ron could have been a wonderful father to another child. She could have held another baby in her arms before her other two children. She remembered the elation in Ron's face when she had shown him the picture and told him she was pregnant. She also remembered the concern and sorrow she had seen in his eyes a few weeks later as she had lain in a cold bed at St Mungo's. She had known losses before that fateful trip to St Mungo's but nothing had compared to that feeling of emptiness and utter despair that came over her as she listened to a healer telling her that the little miracle from the Muggle sonogram was no more.

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><p>Ron looked at his wife swishing her wand to make boxes move around the room neatly. Hermione was trying to organize the bedroom. He came behind her and surprised her with a soft kiss at the nape of her neck. She let out a shriek of laughter and sent one box askew, spilling its content all over the floor.<p>

He laughed and told her he would get the box off the floor. He kissed her once more and bent down to retrieve the box content. He found old pictures of their time at Hogwarts. One of them was of Dumbledore's Army during their fifth year. They both were there in the front, flanking Harry on each side. He saw Ginny, Fred, and George next to him. And he froze as he saw Lavender just behind him.

Lavender. He had wondered many times what would have happened if he had not been poisoned on his seventeenth birthday. Would he have kept going out with Lavender? Would she have ditched him anyway? Would Hermione have ever talked to him again? Would he have followed her and Harry on the Horcrux hunt? Would Hermione have ever kissed him, let alone become his wife? He doubted it. He also doubted he would have been very happy.

He put the picture back in the box before Hermione levitated it to a shelf. Her eyes were mischievous and her mouth still turned up in a smile and took his breath away. He couldn't help himself and gathered her in his arms before planting a loud kiss on her lips. Being poisoned had been the best birthday present he had ever had.

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><p><strong>AN**_ For the second story, I guess I am not very original as I have read a few fanfics regarding Hermione miscarrying. It is a sad thing but just seemed to fit in this chapter._


	13. Broomsticks

**A/N** _Sorry about the delay in getting this entry up. _

_This chapter is short and is about broomsticks. I want to thank **Yogababe** for the suggestion. I would love more suggestions if you have some.  
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_Two of the three snippets revolve around Harry and the third one is about Ron.  
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_Please read and review.  
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_Disclaimer: you know the drill... None of this is mine.  
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><p><strong>Broomsticks:<strong>

Sirius looked at the letter and recognised Lily's elegant handwriting. It had been a little while since he had heard from James, Lily, and little Harry. He opened the letter impatiently and read quickly. He had been so sorry to miss Harry's first birthday, not only because he really was fond of the little lad but also because it had been another missed opportunity to meet with James and Lily. He missed all of them and especially James. He knew his old friend hated being cooped up but would do all it took to keep Lily and Harry safe.

Sirius took a look at the photo. The broomstick had been the perfect gift. He chuckled as he saw little Harry was zooming happily on the broomstick, managing well for a one year old but still flying haphazardly between his parents. No wonder he had broken the horrid vase. The lad seemed to have inherited his mother's good tastes, his father's natural ability for flying and his godfather's talent for trouble. Hopefully the Potters' cat would be safe.

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><p>Harry had a hard time concentrating on the paperwork he had to fill up. As much as he enjoyed being an Auror, he didn't relish the administrative part of it, all the report writing it entailed. And funnily enough, having rid the world of Voldemort didn't give him a free pass on this less enthralling part of his job. He took a deep sigh as his thoughts started wandering. Ginny. She was on tour with the Harpies right now and would be back until the next day.<p>

His eyes darted toward the silver frame on his desk. Her hair was always the first thing he saw when he looked at the photograph. A bright red mane, windswept behind her. It contrasted beautifully with the dark green of her Harpies Quidditch robes. She looked fierce, beautiful and fully in command as she gracefully flew on her broomstick, from one end of the frame to the other. How much he would give to be riding with her. How much he would give to be that broomstick. Right! Time to get back to the report.

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><p>Ron opened the door and was welcome by the smell of leather and broomstick polish. He inhaled happily and signaled for Ginny, Rose, and Albus to get in the Quidditch supply shop. Rose looked at her father and smiled at the look of pure juvenile happiness on his face. She was giddy with joy herself as they were shopping for a new broomstick for her, her gift for becoming a Hogwarts prefect. Al and his Mum were along on the journey as Al needed new gloves as well.<p>

The shop walls were covered with pictures of famous quidditch players and classic broomsticks. Al found a picture of an old broomstick and nudged Rose.

"Look at this, Rosie. A Cleansweep Eleven. They haven't made those in probably over twenty years."

At the words "Cleansweep Eleven", Ginny and Ron turned around. Ginny smiled as she recognised the familiar broomstick on the photo. She told her son:

"Actually, your uncle here used to have one when he joined the Griffyndor Quidditch team. Although the first game he played on the team was quite dreadful, wasn't it Ron?" Ginny asked teasingly.

"That stupid song didn't help," Ron grumbled, still annoyed, twenty odd years later by the malicious song invented by Draco Malfoy. But then a smile came upon his face as he remembered that Hermione had kissed him for the first time on that day, even if it had been only on his cheek. His smile became full-fledged as he also remembered some stolen days in the summer after the Battle of Hogwarts, when he had taken Hermione on rides on his old Cleansweep Eleven. Her dread of heights had made her hold onto him very tightly. Yes, the broomstick had been a very good one indeed. Ron was going to make sure to ask Hermione on a ride that evening.

"Well, you certainly look cheerful Ron. Why are you smiling so much?" Ginny asked him inquisitively.

Before Ron could answer, Rose sighed and shook her head slowly and muttered slightly embarrassed:

"It has to be something to do with Mum. And no, I don't want to know anything about it."

Ron was now openly grinning as he took in the scene in front of him. Ginny looked horrified, Rose looked embarrassed and Al just looked very much the same way his Dad had many times, like he would much rather be somewhere else.

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><p><strong>AN**_ Please let me know what you think.  
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	14. Brothers

**A/N **_Thank you for all the reviews. I realize I am at over 80 reviews now. Yeah! I would be ecstatic if I can make it to 100! And yes, I am still looking for additional ideas.  
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_This is a new installment. The theme here is brothers and is sort of a companion piece to the chapter four on sisters, especially the Ron/Ginny part, viewed from Ginny's POV this time._

_Dedicated to all siblings out there whom we love dearly even if they drive us crazy sometimes._

_Please read and review.  
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_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.  
><em>

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><p><strong>Brothers<strong>

Rose looked at the picture her mother had sent with her weekly letter. It was one that had been taken during the Christmas holiday and was a picture of her and Hugo. Hugo had somehow sprouted antlers out of his red hair and she had what looked like beaver teeth. They had fought like hippogriffs on that day. Hugo had teased her about her relationship with Scorpius and her healthy appetite. She had had called him an immature fifteen year old prat who was jealous because he had never had an actual girlfriend. He had blushed in real Weasley fashion and had gone on to make fun of her hair. Granted, there was a lot of bushiness there to make fun of but that still didn't give him the right. She had called him a freckled twat and had given him a pair of antlers. He had called her a bushy-haired stomach on feet and had hexed her with beaver teeth. Yes, that was her lovely little brother.

They had been about to continue their battle when Mum had appeared. They had instead ended up on the receiving end of a lecture on the improper use of magic and had had their wands confiscated for the rest of the holiday. They had also had to clean the entire house without magic. And Mum hadn't removed the hexes until the evening and after she had taken the photograph as a reminder as she had put it.

And Mum was writing about the picture, telling them they had to behave better and stop arguing all the time. Honestly, what did Mum expect? Mum had never had a little brother, had she? Hugo was her brother, Rose mused. Weren't they mandated to fight all the time? As she put her mother's letter down, she saw Hugo slowly come back to his senses. Madam Pomfrey had done a good job of limiting the injury but he still looked like someone who had been hit by a Bludger... as he actually had.

"Hey," he said as he saw Rose.

"Hey," Rose replied.

"What happened?" he asked as his scrunched his face while trying to remember.

"What do you remember?" she asked him softly.

"Quidditch match. You were about to score. And Smith sent a Bludger your way. It was about to hit you in the head.

"Yes, that's it. So instead, you thought it would be better to get hit yourself by the Bludger and moved between me and said Bludger."

"Did I pass out?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh yeah. Completely knocked out in the middle of the game."

"Did the entire school see?"

"Well, just the people watching the game, so yes, about the entire school."

"Bloody fucking hell," he swore. "Was Violet watching?"

"Yes, your would-be girlfriend was watching."

"Don't call her that."

"I would call her your girlfriend if you asked her out. I am sure she would love to go out with you."

"You think so?"

"Merlin, for someone so intelligent, you can be thick Hugo. Of course, she wants to."

He seemed discomfited by this.

"And now, I have made an idiot of myself by passing out in front of the entire school."

"Not anymore than usual, twat" Rose cheeked back.

"Shut it, bushy-haired stomach on feet."

She remained quiet for a minute, something unusual for her. She was mulling her Mum's letter and what her little brother had done to protect her. Finally, she spoke quietly.

"You know, you didn't have to take this Bludger for me. Although that kind of makes you look like a hero, especially to would-be girlfriends. But thank you."

He smiled at her.

"That's what brothers are for."

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><p>That was it. He had made his decision. Regulus Black stood up and paced his room, reconciling himself with his choice. It was difficult as he had always been the loyal son, the one to walk in the path that had been clearly traced for him. The diametric opposite of Sirius. He took the photo of his older brother, the photo he secretly kept in the drawer of his desk. Their mother had removed any other picture of Sirius since he had run away.<p>

Regulus looked at the features of his brother who was smiling back at him with an arrogant disarming grin. Sirius and he looked alike but Sirius had always been better looking than him with his natural haughty good looks. He was truly handsome. Regulus remembered how they had played and argued together when they had been boys, so close in age and appearance, and yet so apart in character. Naturally gifted, Sirius had been nonchalant about academic work when Regulus had always had to work hard to obtain the good marks they parents demanded. Sirius had been self-confident, always happy to be in the spotlight and advertise his difference, when Regulus had lacked this assurance and preferred to stay in the background and just be a good son.

Sirius had broken their mother's heart by always seeking to distance himself from being a Black instead of being proud of it like the rest of them. Sirius had been sorted in Gryffindor, and had made friends with blood traitors like Potter and mudbloods like Evans. Sirius had openly denounced pure blood supremacy and had tried to warn him, Regulus, against Voldemort. As Regulus called Kreacher to him to prepare for what he knew to most certainly be his death, he wished he had listened to his only brother and could have had a chance to say good bye to him.

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><p>The Gryffindor common room was subdued at this late hour. There were only a few seventh-year students left, studying. Ginny looked at her friend across the table. Hermione was looking longingly at something in one of her books. While it was very much like Hermione to get lost in a book, the look of longing told Ginny there was more. Before Hermione had a chance to realise what was happening, Ginny reached across the table and seized the book. As she looked down at the book, she came face to face with hair as red as hers, a familiar lopsided grin, and blue eyes she knew all too well. Ron was smiling back at her from the confine of the photo.<p>

Ginny looked back up at Hermione who incidentally looked quite poised to hex her into oblivion. She handed her back the book and the picture before declaring:

"Hermione, this is quite sick how Ron and you are looking at each other."

"And you're not looking at Harry the same way?" Hermione countered.

"Well, maybe, but Harry isn't my brother."

"He is like one to me."

"Alright, what is it you find in Ron?"

"He is funny," Hermione started.

"Yes, hilarious, especially when he gets overprotective and barges on me and Harry while we're snogging," snorted Ginny.

"He is intelligent," Hermione pursued.

"Obviously you didn't grow up sitting at the dinner table with him and the twins having pea snorting contests," Ginny retorted.

"Look at him," Hermione said while pointing at the picture, "he is an attractive man. Look at his hair, his eyes."

"And I thought Harry was the one with bad eyesight," Ginny sighed humourously.

Hermione ignored her and carried on:

"He is courageous and chivalrous and..."

"Alright, stop it," Ginny interrupted with a hand up in the air. "Stop it or I may vomit. He is my brother. My very overprotective brother and I have to believe he's a git, on principle, you know."

"But you still love him, don't you," Hermione added with a mischievous smile.

"I guess I do love the prat, yes," Ginny relented. "It's just the way you look at each other. It's a bit much at times."

Hermione blushed lightly.

"We went through a lot together. I am lucky to be alive and have him," she murmured.

Ginny turned serious and reached for her hand. She spoke earnestly:

"And he is lucky to have you. Now let me tell you about the pea snorting contests. That really drove Mum completely mad..."

Hermione smiled as Ginny started recounting about growing up at the Burrow with seven brothers. They were lucky indeed.

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><p><strong>AN **_Here you are. Let me know what you think... Reviews are wonderful you know._


	15. Cravings

**A/N **_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed or favorited this story. Thank you also for submitting new ideas for future chapters. The wheels are turning again in my head to think of new little snippets based on the themes proposed._

_The theme for this chapter is cravings, of all kinds. It also brings a character I haven't had yet in this fic but one of my favorite adult characters in the book: Arthur Weasley._

_I hope you enjoy. Please read and review (getting so close to 100...)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, yada, yada, yada._

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><p><strong>Cravings<strong>

George grabbed the wand on his bedside table and lit the room. There was no point in pretending he was going to sleep. He looked under his pillow and retrieved the photo he was carrying around all the time. It stared back at him, the identical grins and red hair a stark reminder that half of him had died. He so wanted to be able to grin again like he and Fred had on the photo but his lips seemed to have forgotten how.

As he contemplated his next move, a slow yearning was starting to build inside him. It would be easy to get to the Firewhiskey. His parents had always kept it in plain sight in the living room, just putting an age charm on it so that nobody under age could touch it. Well, he was of age, wasn't he?

He carefully walked down the stairs of the Burrow, avoiding the creaky ones he knew by heart. In the living room, he resolutely turned his back to the bloody clock with one hand perpetually stuck on lost. He looked at the cupboard where he knew the tempting Firewhiskey to be. He caught a glimpse of himself in the nearby mirror. His hair was disheveled and dull. His eyes were bloodshot and underlined by heavy purplish bags. His lips were a thin line. He looked at the photo and talked to his absent twin.

"Fred, you win, you are the better looking one. I look like absolute shit."

Fred kept grinning on the picture, as if in agreement. George just felt a stronger craving for the amber liquid that lay just beyond the cupboard door. He opened the door and took the bottle out with a glass. He poured the golden drink, yearning for the blissful oblivion it would create, even if it would be only momentary, even if the hangover and reality would eventually come crashing and hurting like a bitch.

He raised his glass in a mock toast:

"To your good health, Fred."

He started laughing mirthlessly as the incongruity of his words hit him. He took another look at the glass in his hands, anticipating the slow burning sensation that would come when the Firewhiskey made its way down his throat. He wanted it, craved it, or at least yearned to escape the bleak reality that was now his life. Fred was dead.

He was bringing the glass to his lips, the same that now always refused to smile, when he heard a loud cough. He almost choked on the drink, feeling the light burn inside his mouth, and spitting the rest out.

"It won't help," a sad Arthur Weasley told his son.

"Blimey, Dad. You scared me. What are you doing up? It's three bloody o'clock in the morning."

"I think the same as you. I couldn't sleep so I came to get a cup of tea," Arthur replied mildly. "George, I know you are of age but trust me, it won't help. The Firewhiskey won't. And the hangover is going to be painful."

"What do you know about what will and won't help?" George shouted back. He immediately regretted it and just wanted to take another full gulp of the tempting liquid, to wash away from his memory the look of sheer misery he saw on his father's face.

Silence passed as Arthur kept looking at his son and George kept being tempted by the liquid gateway to forgetfulness. With his eyes still cast down, staring at the seductive liquid, George spoke softly:

"You and Mum have each other. Bill has Fleur. Charlie has his dragons. Percy has his work. Ginny has Harry. And Ron has the lovely Miss Granger."

"Yes, there seems to be a lot of things going on between these two," Arthur chuckled.

For the first time in almost a month, George felt his lips wanting to twitch upward. He also felt his craving for the Firewhiskey weaken.

Arthur resumed:

"And you don't have Fred anymore to lean onto but you have all of us. A bottle of Firewhiskey makes a really poor replacement for Fred, Georgie."

George felt a certain comfort in being called by his childhood name. Arthur picked up the picture that was lying on the table and spoke softly:

"Your Mum and I were so proud when you opened your shop. You both have a rare talent, making people laugh."

The use of the present tense didn't escape George. Arthur handed him the picture back and resumed with misty eyes:

"I have lost a son, George. I don't want to lose another one. We all need you, now more than ever."

George felt the craving for the Firewhiskey completely abandon him. It was replaced by a gush of affection for his father, whom he embraced tightly.

"So what about this cup of tea, he said in a slightly croaky voice as he released his father from his embrace and levitated the glass and bottle back into the cupboard. "And what exactly is going on between Ickle Ronniekins and his lovely girlfriend?"

They had tea, talked at length about Ron's love life, and finally started to heal.

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><p>Harry read greedily the Daily Prophet that had just been delivered. Reading the paper alone in his room was much better than having to be in the same room as the Dursleys. Not that they would invite him to be and not that he would ever want to be with them. But for some reason, he had to be back every summer even though he would much rather stay at Hogwarts or even better, spend the summer at the Burrow. Hadn't Ron mentioned something about the Quidditch World Cup?<p>

He flipped through the Daily Prophet and saw a picture advert for Honeydukes and their delicious sweets: sugar quills, licorice wands, enticing toffees. His stomach gave a growl of protest as he started salivating. Harry was not in love with food like Ron was but he was a growing boy and enjoyed good food. He also was not wider than tall and saw no reason to endure the dreadful diet that had been imposed upon Dudley and by extension all the inhabitants of 4 Privet Drive. His mouth watered at the thought of a chocolate frog. That made him think of Ron and then Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking. His mind became filled with treacle tart and he heard another loud growl. But his brain kept going on and a brilliant idea came to him.

The following day, he saw the poor Errol knock at his window, laden with more parcels than the aging owl could carry. Ron had received his letter and Mrs. Weasley had obviously outdone herself with fulfilling his request for food. He opened the parcels quickly to reveal delicious meat pies with enticing aromas, complicated sweets and his favourite: a treacle tart. He let Errol rest in Hedwig's cage (the poor bird would probably need several days to recover) and satisfied his cravings without any restraints. His stomach full, he lay down on his bed and went on to read the Daily Prophet again, thinking of the letter he would write to thank Ron. He was totally indifferent when he saw the same picture advertising Honeydukes' many sweets, his cravings having been completely sated.

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><p>Ron sat a few feet away from the tent, twirling his wand between his fingers, aimlessly. He watched the hypnotic dance of the locket around his neck. He hated the bloody thing and the way it made him feel and act. His stomach gave a loud growl. He was hungry, famished really. His mouth started salivating as his thoughts wandered to the delicious meat pies his mum made. He yearned for one of the sweet chocolate gateaux the Hogwarts house elves would serve or just a simple chocolate frog. A born glutton with a healthy appetite, the lack of food certainly didn't agree with him and the wretched locket didn't help.<p>

To turn his thoughts away from the perennial hunger, and from the nagging voice that persistently told him he didn't need to be there but should be with his family, he took a well worn photo out of his trousers pocket. It was one of Hermione, Harry, and him. Harry was in the middle. Harry was always in the middle the annoying voice told him. Ron fought internally to silence the voice but would have preferred a photo of just Hermione. He didn't have one of just her. Longingly, his fingers traced the delicate lines of her face, imagining how soft her skin would feel. He remembered how he had seen a flash of the skin of her lower back the previous night as she had stretched like a cat.

He was suddenly seized with another powerful kind of craving, yearning to touch her elegant face, ravish her full mouth and taste her skin, her, everywhere.

She had approached stealthily and startled him. He quickly put the photo back in his pocket and stood to his full height, towering over her. Hermione took a step backward and looked in Ron's eyes and saw a faint glint of red amidst the blue. She also saw hunger, a feral one, plain and raw and not just for food. She saw the locket and understood.

He looked at her. She had taken a step away from him. The little voice in his head kept nagging him, repeating he was a fool and that she was repulsed by him. He saw her outstretch her hand toward him, beckoning him to give her the locket. He hated giving such an evil thing to her but did give it to her. She took it from his hand, her fingers lingering a bit longer than necessary on his and wordlessly walked back to the tent. The voice in his head was gone the minute he took the locket off but his craving for Hermione remained.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**_ Well, that's it for this chapter. I originally thought of Ron to stop George but I thought Mr. Weasley would make more sense and that was a good time to use the Weasley patriarch in this story._


	16. Potions

**A/N** _Let me start by thanking you for all the wonderful reviews I received for last chapter. It was truly magic to read so many nice comments and thanks to all you, this story now has over 100 reviews! Thank you! You are fantastic readers._

_This new chapter was inspired by a suggestion from __**kjc1123. **__The theme here is Potions. Thank you for the inspiration._

_It is definitely a lighter chapter than the previous one: the George/Arthur bit in last chapter was a bit draining to write so I needed something happier for this of the stories are somewhat intertwined with two previous chapters. The Rose/Hermione scene follows the discovery of a certain picture by Rose in chapter 10 (Dance). The Harry/Hermione scene is supposed to happen on the same day as the Ron/Rose/Ginny scene in chapter 13 (Broomsticks). Don't worry if you haven't read the previous chapters, they are not necessary to understand these short scenes._

_Please read and review._

_**Disclaimer:** I have no right upon Harry Potter, sadly._

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><p><strong>Potions<strong>

Hermione stood up and shook _the Daily Prophet_ in Ron's face. He took his eyes off from the Quidditch magazine he had been reading to look at her. She was obviously annoyed about something he thought somewhat amused.

"What is it, Love?" he asked mildly.

"This," she said agitatedly while pointing at the picture.

He took a look and saw a picture of various Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products, part of an advert for the opening of a second shop in Hogsmeade.

"You knew that George was about to open another shop. He told us months ago. What's the problem?"

"It's not the shop. Look at what he is selling: love potions."

Ron grinned.

"I reckon you don't need any. I'm yours, all yours."

"Be serious for a minute, Ron," she admonished him, although a small smile etched on her lips. "Have you forgotten how dangerous this potion can be? Don't you remember what Harry told us about Voldemort? Do you think he would have turned so evil if he hadn't been conceived under the ill effects of a love potion?"

"Wow, Hermione, slow down," he told her as he raised one hand up. "Any decent witch can brew a love potion."

"Or wizard!"

"Or wizard", he conceded. "My point is that love potion was not the only reason Voldemort turned out as fucked up as he did."

"Language!" she reprimanded him.

"Anyway, there were some other issues with inbreeding, some terrible choices he made and so on. Because George sells love potions doesn't mean we will have an army of mini Voldemorts in the making. And George's potion really wears off quickly."

"How do you know that," she asked sharply.

"Because George told me, is all. It's really just for fun. Besides, love potion is one of my favourite potions."

She stared at him blankly before saying:

"Come again."

"Well, it's logical really," he started while she kept staring at him and raised a questioning eyebrow. He resumed:

"If I hadn't consumed a love potion in sixth year, Harry wouldn't have taken me to Slughorn, I wouldn't have been poisoned and you probably would never have spoken to me again," he finished.

She sat down on his lap, to his great approval, and put her arms around his neck.

"I'm not sure there's any logic in there, but I gave up on logic a long time ago when it comes to you."

And she kissed him sweetly as no love potion would ever be needed between them.

* * *

><p>"Mum," Rose called sweetly in a voice that screamed "Have I news for you!"<p>

"Yes, love. What is it?"

"Did you actually go out with Viktor Krum?"

Yes, her fourteen year old daughter was good at finding old things. Hermione smiled and asked curiously:

"Where did you learn about that?"

"Doing some research with Al at the library for an essay on the rise of Voldemort. I found some pictures dating back from when the Triwizard Tournament was held at Hogwarts. Look at this one."

Rose showed her an old newspaper with a picture of the Yule Ball. Hermione recognised a much younger version of herself, with her hair tamed with liberal amounts of Sleekeazy potion. She was dancing with Viktor.

"Yes, Viktor Krum invited me to the Yule ball."

"Does Dad know about this?"

"Oh yes, he does," Hermione answered emphatically, while a big grin split her face. With over twenty years of hindsight, she could find teenage Ron's jealousy somewhat endearing.

"That explains his biased view of Krum's abilities on the Quidditch pitch," Rose mused to herself.

Hermione smiled and nodded in agreement. Maybe Ron's jealous streak hadn't ended with his teenage years after all.

"How did you manage to do that with your hair?" Rose asked, maddeningly changing the subject in a fashion that was so like Ron.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your hair. Look, it doesn't look like its usual bushy self. Did you use loads of Sleekeazy potion?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I did. And I never did it again. Honestly, it is too much trouble and there is nothing wrong with my hair. It is just naturally curly."

"Mum, not to be cheeky or anything, but your hair is ghastly. And I inherited it. Do you think I could try some Sleekeazy potion for my hair?"

"You are being cheeky, young lady. And, absolutely not. You may not try Sleekeazy potion," Hermione refused categorically. "Your hair is fine as it is."

As she said this, Ron Apparated in the kitchen, back from work. He gave a light peck to Rose's cheek and a real kiss to Hermione while Rose made gagging sounds. He talked to Rose:

"Whatever your Mum said, she's right."

"Why do you always side with her?" Rose asked him.

"Have you met your mother?" Ron answered half-jokingly.

"Your daughter wants to use dangerous magic potions to make her hair sleek," Hermione announced.

Ron turned back to Rose, very seriously.

"Rose, your hair is beautiful."

"It's awful. It's bushy and red."

"Red hair is very appealing," Hermione told her, as a light pink colour flushed her cheeks.

"And curly hair is just magnificent," Ron added, somewhat dreamily.

Rose just shook her head, exasperated by her parent's bias when it came to hair. Ron put a hand on her shoulder and resumed.

"Seriously, Sweetheart. Your hair is brilliant. You'll see one day, when you are much older, a bloke will fall in love with you and completely lose himself in your hair."

Rose appreciated her father's words and for some reason, thought of her friend Scorpius. Ron interrupted her thoughts by pursuing:

"And of course, I will have to hex the poor bloke but no worries, your hair will still be beautiful and you still won't need any magic potion on it."

* * *

><p>Harry sat with Hermione at the ice cream parlour that had once been Fortescue's. They sent Lily and Hugo to order some ice cream and Hermione began leafing through a heavy potions book.<p>

"Why did I get stuck going to Flourish and Blotts with you and Lily and Hugo while Ron, Ginny, Rose, and Al went to the Quidditch shop?" Harry asked jokingly.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Harry," Hermione answered in a prim voice. "You know Ginny says you are like a kid in a sweets shop when you go to the Quality Quidditch Supplies."

"Sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean it that way," he said earnestly. He quickly changed the subject:

"I don't think you need to learn any new potions, Hermione, especially not from a fifth year potion book." He gave a wistful sigh. "I can't believe that Rose and Al are already entering fifth year."

She smiled at him, feeling a lot of empathy. She returned to the book and was surprised to find a picture of a very familiar potion. She showed the book to Harry and asked him with a grin:

"Look at that, Harry. Look what they are learning to make this year."

"Polyjuice potion," he immediately recognised the muddy-looking brew on the picture. "I reckon we have plenty of experience with that one and that you probably can brew it in your sleep."

"It is quite a strange potion indeed. Although, I haven't used it since we broke into Gringott's."

"Yeah, I didn't like it too much when you turned into Bellatrix Lestrange, especially not after what she had done to you," he added quietly.

She squeezed his hand affectionately.

"It's the past Harry. Let it lie. Besides, I never had much luck when I used Polyjuice potion, did I? Actually, turning into you was the best experience although it was slightly strange turning into someone of the opposite sex."

"Yes, I can't imagine. How much did you see of my body exactly?" he asked slightly worried.

"Don't worry, there was too much going on for me to even think of how awkward this part could be," she reassured him.

"Thank you!" he acknowledged in relief.

"But if I had to turn into a man again, I probably would choose you again. You are my best friend, the man I know and understand best, it would make perfect sense, really."

"Really? Me? Not Ron?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Harry, as much as I love him, even after all these years, I am not sure I fully understand what's going on in Ron's head sometimes. Besides, that'd really be awkward, think of it. I wouldn't feel comfortable in a body that I know so well, that has..."

"Wow, wow, stop here, now," Harry interrupted her with his hand up in front of him. "I get your drift and don't want to hear or think about it."

She laughed happily with him.

"Sorry, I can't help it," she hiccupped between two peals of laughter.

"I know. Utterly and irremediably in love with the git, you are. I think it is reciprocated, you know," Harry added in a tone of mock-conspiracy.

"I know, trust me, I do," she replied joyfully.

Lily and Hugo came back to the table, laden with ice cream cups and finding their respective parents looking at a potions textbook and laughing like schoolchildren.

"I had no idea potions could be that much fun," Hugo told his cousin.

* * *

><p><em>There you have it. I hope you enjoyed.<em>

_And speaking of potions, I just saw the movie and it was really good. The book purists will find fault with what was included and what wasn't (I know I did) but overall a very satisfying movie and special mention to Rickman for his turn as erstwhile potions master Snape._


	17. Protection

**A/N** _Once again, thank you so much for all the reviews. You all rock! _

_This new chapter was inspired by a suggestion from __**Lectura35. **__The theme here is Protection. ____ hope I don't disappoint and many thanks for the idea._

_The stories vary here in tone with two somewhat light ones and one a bit heavier. In the end, they are all about love because we all want to protect the ones we love from hurt and pain._

_Please read and review._

_Disclaimer: you know the drill… None of this belongs to me or I would have otherwise retired to some warm Caribbean island._

**Protection**

Ron knocked softly on Hugo's room, remembering Hermione's advice that the children needed some privacy. Hugo came and opened the door and did a poor job of hiding his surprise:

"Dad?"

"May I come in," Ron asked.

Hugo opened the door all the way to reveal a neatly tidied bedroom, the opposite of his sister's. Books were perfectly lined on shelves, his Quidditch uniform was hanging on a hook behind the door. There were no chocolate frogs wrappers strewn all over the place and clothes were put away in the wardrobe. There was a single piece of parchment on the desk, a quill lying next to it, and a thick book open in front of it. Homework, Ron thought. The kid was so much like his mother.

"What were you working on?"

"Arithmancy," Hugo replied quietly. "Dad, what do you want?"

"We need to erm… talk, father to son."

Hugo groaned. The last time that had happened, his father had spent an hour explaining all the changes happening to adolescent body. That had been a little bit awkward.

"Trust me, young lad, you'll be happy we've had this conversation one day," Ron told him, a slight smile on his lips. Please take a look at this photograph."

Ron provided a picture featuring a hand performing what looked like a charm. Before Hugo had any time pondering how odd it was for his father to teach him a charm, Ron told him:

"Protection."

Hugo instinctively replied:

"Dad, I know how to do a shield charm and this is wrong and..."

He stopped mid-sentence, comprehension dawning on him. He was only able to manage a:

"Oh!"

"I am used to a better formulated answer from you, son, but yes, you need to think about protection. You're thirteen, almost fourteen, and have probably already thought about what naturally happens between a witch and a wizard when..."

"You mean sex," Hugo interrupted calmly.

"Yes, that," Ron replied as if the word had a taboo curse on it. "Well, one day, you will find a young witch you fancy a lot and hopefully she will reciprocate. Then, when you two decide to erm..."

"Have sex," Hugo completed automatically. "Come on Dad, you can say it. Sex. See. It's not that difficult, is it? Fear of a name…"

"…only increases fear of the thing itself," Ron automatically completed. "Yes, I know and believe me, I am not afraid of this particular thing."

Hugo cringed and shuddered at hearing this. Ron resumed:

"Honestly, Hugo, will you stop it? I am trying to teach you about protection here. This charm is the one you need to perform for protection."

"In case the girl attacks me during sex?" Hugo asked cheekily, putting the discomfort back on his father's side.

"So you don't procreate a bratty little know-it-all before you are ready. So practice. It takes some practice to get it right. See, your hand has to make this circle," Ron pursued as he guided Hugo's hand.

"Actually, it is easier to cast if you just turn your wand this way, not like what they show on the photo."

"Why don't you follow the instructions from the book?" Hugo frowned.

"You are so much like your Mum. Trust me on this one, it is easier and I've had loads of practice."

That shut Hugo up as the last thing he wanted to think of was his father "practicing". They worked silently together until Ron told his son.

"I think you have it down. Nice job. Just take the photo and keep practicing the charm so you don't have to think too hard when you actually need it. Trust me, you won't be able to think too much right then."

"Erm, cheers Dad," Hugo finally said timidly.

"Don't mention it," Ron mumbled back.

Both father and son felt the tip of their ears redden. He might have a lot in common with his mother, but there was no doubt Hugo was also his son.

* * *

><p>Molly looked up at the ceiling of her bedroom. She heard Arthur deep and regular breaths as he slept next to her, his arm protectively wrapped around her waist. His presence was a reassuring source of warmth, even if not a cure for her insomnia. It was dark, save for a little bit of moonlight that shone through the curtains. It was enough for her to see the photograph on her bedside table. It was one of all her children, taken a few years before. They were all so similar with their red hair and pale skin and yet all of them were so different in their character. All seven of them were waving happily at the camera. None of them had the haunted look in his or her eyes of someone who has seen too many horrors for his or her young age. They hadn't yet when the photo had been taken, she thought sadly.<p>

She had borne and given life to each of them. She was a mother. She loved them all, beyond what words could describe and would do everything and anything for them, to protect them. That was what mothers did. Narcissa Malfoy had lied to protect her son. Lily Potter had died to protect hers. And she, Molly Weasley, had killed to protect her only daughter. No matter how evil and full of madness it had been, she had ended a life. Yet, she would do it again, much the same she would lie or die to protect her children. Because she couldn't ever fail again at protecting a child of hers, she thought as her fingers tenderly traced Fred's face. No, she couldn't fail because she never, ever wanted to feel again the agony of losing a child.

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><p>Ron liked Luna. She was quirky at times but she was a true friend with a free spirit and an enormous courage. That was why he had happily come to her invitation at Flourish and Blotts for the launch of her latest book as a naturalist: <em>Most Intriguing Wild Magical Beasts<em>. At the moment, however, as he sat next to her, he wasn't sure how much his affection for her could prevent him from running away from her as she was showing him her book. She spoke in her dreamy voice.

"So you see, Ron, this photo here is one of a very rare Acromantula. I had to wait patiently to be able to take it. They are shy, you see. Look at the fabulous pincers," Luna added, blissfully unaware of Ron's arachnophobia.

All Ron could see was a monster on the photo: a vicious spider the size of a hippogriff with way too many eyes and hairy legs. He also couldn't take his eyes off the menacing pincers.

Ginny who had been standing nearby came to her brother's rescue.

"That's a fascinating photo, Luna, but Ron really doesn't like spiders. He's quite scared of them actually," she added cheekily.

"Is that right?" Luna asked surprised. "I am really sorry, Ron," she apologized sincerely.

"It's alright, Luna," he replied sheepishly as his heart rate came back down to a normal pace. "I just need some fresh air. Very nice book, Luna, and congratulations," he told her as he walked away from Luna and Ginny.

"Don't tell him but I used to protect him from the spiders when we were growing up", Ginny explained. "I always volunteered to go to the shed to get broomsticks and I checked his room every night before he went to bed to make sure there were no spiders in any corner."

"That's really nice of you Ginny", Luna said.

Ginny shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, he is my brother and I do care for the git. He's just too proud to accept the idea that a girl can protect him. And I won't tell him either that Hermione has cast a spider-repellent charm on their home. But seriously Luna, can you give me a copy of this Acromantula photo? I'll have something to show Ron next time he interrupts Harry and me…"

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><p><em>Thank you everyone for all the ideas for new chapters. I am working slowly but still churning some ideas. Please feel free to drop more ideas.<em>


	18. Regret

**A/N**_ I had no idea where this story would go when I started it and I am delighted to see the number of people reading it, reviewing it, alerting on it, or making it one of their favorite stories. Thank you to all!_

_This new chapter was inspired by another suggestion from __**larnaka22.**__ Thank you for the prompt!_

_The theme in this chapter is Regret. In the end, I chose two bittersweet entries and one lighter in tone. After all, regret is linked to mistakes so there is always a component of darker things associated with the emotion, but in the end, it also signifies growth as a person._

_Lastly, I know I promised this entire story would have a heavy dose of Ron/Hermione but for this, I have a Draco/Astoria piece. Just be warned._

_Please read and review._

_Disclaimer: standard one. I don't own Harry Potter (although I could really use a wizard at present time.)_

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><p><strong>Regret<strong>

Astoria looked at the living room of Draco's flat. It was decorated in simple and elegant lines, with accents of emerald. Draco sat rigidly in a broad leather armchair, swirling the glass of wine they were sharing. He looked uncomfortable, even if he was in his lair. It had taken them a year to know each other, for her to peel the layers that made the haughty and often cocky veneer and find a troubled but lovable soul underneath. There had been no misunderstanding what they were heading to when he had invited her for a night capper in his flat. She was ready for this next stage in their relationship. Yet, he was the one who looked ill at ease.

She decided to take the lead, ignoring all the things her upbringing had taught her. She went to sit next to him on the armchair, taking the glass away from him and moving it to a nearby table. She proceeded to kiss him and he let her, even returning her affection. She took him out of his evening robes and was starting to work on the thin shirt underneath, unbuttoning the front and moving on to the cuff links on his sleeves when he froze and seized her wrist. She backed away, hurt clearly etched on her face.

"Draco, why did you invite me up if you are clearly so uncomfortable with me?" she threw at him.

Her spontaneity and refusal to abide by the restricting constraints of the wizarding pure-blood society was what had attracted him to her. He released her hand and spoke quietly:

"I need to show you something first."

He had had other women and had never cared to warn them but somehow Astoria felt different. He finished removing the cuff links and slowly lifted his sleeve, revealing the picture branded in his skin, the mark that embodied many of his errors and regrets. Astoria could discern clearly the skull and snake slithering around. The dark mark, etched on his pale forearm. All rumours she had heard were true. Draco had been a close and faithful servant of the Dark Lord. She gasped, looking at him, her eyes unblinking.

"I was sixteen. My father was a Death Eater. That was all I had known and I chose to ignore whatever little doubt I had. I chose easy instead of right," he said in a barely audible voice, surprising himself at quoting the words of Albus Dumbledore. "I was a coward, as is my father." There was no mistaking the contempt in his voice. "I hurt people, I was made to torture some or watched them being tortured. But I never intervened. Have you ever seen someone under the Cruciatus curse, Astoria?" he asked her and added, without waiting for her answer. "You probably haven't and be glad of it." So, you have it. Are you really ready to sleep with a former Death Eater?"

It was his turn to stare at her, his grey eyes drilling into hers. She had had her suppositions about what kind of horrors Draco had been exposed to. The war had left many traumatised. She wasn't sure how to process what he had done but he was being honest with her, and behind the usual wall of cockiness, she could discern some regret, and maybe even shame. She took his hand and looked him in the eye.

"Why would you think that changes anything? We've all made mistakes we regret. Yours are probably bigger than most but what matters is who you are now."

"There won't be any going back. There never is," he added softly.

"What if I don't care?"

"Then kiss me."

And she did, shattering the last layer of his veneer.

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><p>Seamus sat on his bed, holding the photo of Lavender and him taken two years prior at the Yule Ball. He had let her go, had not done anything to keep the relation going, to his big regret and now she was just all over Ron, which Seamus didn't know how to feel about.<p>

He saw Dean enter the room they shared with Neville, Harry, and Ron. The two friends had been a bit at odds lately, because of all the time Dean spent with Ginny (lucky git!) and because of Dean being selected as a replacement chaser on the Quidditch team rather than Seamus.

"Seamus," Dean greeted him.

"Left the lovely Miss Weasley long enough to have a conversation," Seamus launched.

"Oh please, Seamus. Are you still brooding because Harry chose me for the Quidditch team? And what are you looking at?" Dean came closer to the bed and saw the picture of Lavender. The surly mood of his best mate suddenly made more sense.

"Really, Seamus? Lavender? Still?"

"I just wish I had not let things fizzle out. I wish... Well, it doesn't really matter what I wish I had done, does it? She is going out with Ron now, isn't she? And I can't even blame him, can I? Lavender nearly threw herself at him and she's pretty and he's a bloke."

Dean chuckled.

"Seamus, I wouldn't worry too much about Ron and Lavender. It's hormonal really. I think Ron might secretly wish she'd break up with him. I think Ron prefers book-smart, bushy-haired girls," Dean told him, humour in his voice.

"Hermione? You think Ron has something for Hermione? How do you know that?" Seamus asked incredulously.

"Harry is not the only one talking in his sleep," Dean replied coyly. "I reckon Lavender will need consoling before long. You will be there and can then tell her how sorry you are."

Seamus felt his spirits lift as he took another look at the photograph and the smiling face of Lavender.

"Cheers, Dean."

* * *

><p>It had been a year since the end of the war and Hermione was moving into 12, Grimmauld Place. It had taken some diplomatic convincing of her parents and Ron's that she was moving with two young men but one was like a brother to her and the other one was already her boyfriend. And at least Grimmauld Place was much more spacious than the tent they had shared for many months and they didn't have to worry anymore about defeating the most evil wizards of all times. So here she was, unpacking her things into the bedroom, Harry and Ron helping her. She was currently completely emptying the beaded bag that had accompanied her through so much, probably for the first time since she had packed it almost two years before. As she took things out, she trailed for a moment at what she had recovered from the bag:<p>

"Look what I've found," Hermione exclaimed, holding a photograph up to Harry and Ron.

It was a picture of the three of them that she had magically taken in a rare moment of respite during their Horcrux hunt. It had been just after they had escaped Xenophilius Lovegood's house. It had been taken on a rainy day, with the three of them were standing in front of the old tent, trying to smile but failing miserably.

"I can't believe I still have this photo. It was left at the bottom of my beaded bag," she explained. "Fun times, weren't they?" she asked them.

Harry took a look at the photo. He saw the three of them, looking like lost souls, the trials of their Horcrux hunt clearly etched on their faces. Fun times? Hermione had a weird sense of humour. Missing death by a hair on too many occasions; seeing his friends in pain or agony: There hadn't been a single fun thing about it. All of a sudden, he felt a deep wave of regret he hadn't experienced in a few months; regret for having dragged his friends into such a dangerous endeavour. They had a choice not to come and they came nonetheless because they were his friends, true and loyal. And they had paid dearly. Harry could never in his lifetime forget the cries of Hermione as she was being tortured of the ones of Ron sobbing in despair. All because of him, the so-called chosen one, because he had said the taboo word.

Ron looked at the photo and the sight of the tent and the rain only reminded him of the biggest mistake of his life. He remembered how he had failed his best mate and above all, the girl he loved. He had left them, abandoned them, having not been strong enough to endure the petty mind games the bloody locket had played with him. There was nothing he regretted more in his life than the pain he had caused them, unnecessarily.

Hermione took her eyes away from the photo to look at her two "boys". They no longer were boys. Childhood had b0een left behind a long time ago, shattered with their innocence. She saw the deep regret in both their faces and knew at once where their thoughts had been. She spoke softly:

"Harry, stop being a hero."

"Hermione, you got tortured because of me, because I said his name."

"Harry, I was fully aware of what could happen and in case you didn't notice, that helped us find all the Horcruxes and in the end, finish the evil bastard."

It brought a shy smile to his face. The woman did have an unwavering sense of logic.

"Ron's starting to rub off on you, Hermione. I didn't know you could even use the word bastard. Watch your language."

She returned his smile and squeezed his hand affectionately. She then turned to Ron who had remained uncharacteristically silent.

"Ron, Love, stop blaming yourself. This locket was evil and you did come back. You saved Harry. You saved me," she said emotionally.

"I hurt you," he whispered, regret and shame obvious on his face.

"And you more than made up for it," she told him while reaching for his hand tenderly, as a rogue tear trailed down her cheek.

She took a hand from each of them and told them:

"I have no regrets. Things had to happen a certain way. The journey was rough but we did get where we wanted to be. Voldemort is dead. We prevailed, Harry. And you," she looked at Ron and just Ron," You needed to make the mistakes to find yourself, me, us. You needed to expand your emotional range beyond a teaspoon," she said with a watery laugh.

She then engulfed both Harry and Ron into a tight hug.

* * *

><p><strong>AN **_Okay. Not sure how my interpretation of the Draco/Astoria will be perceived. I must admit I am growing fonder of the twitchy little ferret. I just think he was taken into something that was much more than he could handle and he does show a lot of doubts through the series, especially the later books. All in all, I think he still is a coward but with a soul and can hopefully recover (as the epilogue of the book seems to imply). A story has been brewing in my mind for several months about the entire road to redemption for Draco... Hopefully I'll be able to bring it to fruition soon._

_For Dean and Seamus, what can I say? Just a sweet interlude. I do like the two characters even if they are only minor._

_I will take a break from this story for the next three weeks (going out on vacation) but will be back soon I promise._

_Cheers to all!_


	19. Weddings

**A/N**_ I'm back from vacation and have a new chapter. I can't say it enough: thank you to all who are reading this story and a special thank you to all who take the time to leave a review and give me more ideas for future chapters._

_This chapter centers around wedding pictures._

_Please read and review._

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine_

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><p><strong>Wedding<strong>

Bill Weasley thought of himself as a grounded person. Some might have argued this fact as he had been a curse-breaker, was a known member of the underground Order of the Phoenix, and had married a French half-Veela with a known temper. He sighed contentedly as he looked at their wedding photo, sitting on top of the fireplace mantel. There they were. Him: long red hair, scarred face, and a smile that looked like it was a holdover from a potent cheering charm. Her: stunningly beautiful as always but rendered even prettier by the elation that radiated from her face. He let a rare bout of self-doubt wash over him. Why was she with him?

"Bill, supper is ready, chéri," Fleur told him as she walked into the room.

His heart started pumping harder at the delightful sight of her.

Fleur saw her husband was looking at their wedding picture and elegantly arched her left eyebrow in question. He remained silent for a second and finally asked her:

"Are you sorry you married me?"

"Bill, no, never," she replied adamantly in her lovely French accent.

"You're cooped up here, away from your family, your country."

"You are my family, Bill, and this is my country now," she replied earnestly as she took his hand in hers.

"You married into the biggest blood-traitor family in England. My little brother is on the run with the most wanted wizard in the country and all of us belong to a clandestine resistance movement."

"Bill, your family is probably the bravest in England. I am proud to be a Weasley. I love your family, all of them," she told him before bringing his large hand to her lips.

"Even my Mum?" he asked jokingly as his natural self-assurance returned under the soft caress of her lips.

"Even your Mum," Fleur spoke quietly. "She is quite someone, your Mum. And everything she does is just for you and your brothers and Ginny. It's just that she loves you," Fleur added

He smiled at her answer.

"Mum can still be overbearing at times," he grinned.

"Well, alright, a little bit. But I married you and not her," she whispered as she tenderly kissed his scarred cheek.

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><p>Harry's words were still piecing Remus like knives. Harry had called him a coward. The boy had obviously grown and although he remained the spitting image of James, he was taking more and more after Lily in character. Just like Lily, Harry wasn't afraid to state what sometimes were hard truths. Remus knew he would have listened to Lily.<p>

Remus took a deep breath, still trying to calm his shaking body. He took the photo he kept in the inside pocket of his robes and looked at it: Here was Dora, his Dora, with him on their wedding day. He remembered how small it had been: only the two of them, her parents, and really close friends like Kingsley and the Weasleys. Dora had sported bright pink hair. He knew that was the colour she favoured when she was truly happy. And there he was, the werewolf, almost fifteen years her senior, with thinning gray hair, and shabby-looking clothes. When she had looked beautiful, he always looked prematurely old and shabby, even on his wedding day.

He had never meant to fall in love with her. His condition precluded falling in love, marrying, or having children. It forbade having a normal happy life. But he had given in because he was weak, because he had insanely fallen for her, because it physically hurt not to be with her. Yet, he had made her an outcast by marrying her. And he had had no rights to impregnate her. He remembered how she had looked excited, her hair the same vivid pink as on the picture as she had told him. He had been smart enough not to ask how it had happened, because he knew that part. But what had he done to her?

He took a look at the photo again, while he heard Harry's voice over and over calling him a coward. He knew he needed her. Coward! He knew he would love Dora's child unconditionally. Coward! What was he doing?

Two minutes later, Remus was looking at the stern face of Ted Tonks who looked none too happy to see him.

"You going to run away again, Remus? Are you going to break her heart again? Because I won't need a wand to hurt you if you do," Ted said menacingly.

"No, I'm here to see Dora, to see if she will take me back."

"Finally got some sense knocked in you, didn't you?" Ted finally smiled. "Come in," he invited Remus as he called out:

"Dora, there's someone here who wants to see you."

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><p>Harry heard the gentle tap of an owl against the window. He opened his eyes blearily, as he felt a pounding headache, the cause of which came back to him: Ron and Hermione's wedding. They had celebrated extensively into the night as his two best friends had finally united in matrimony. He put his glasses on and took a look at Ginny's peaceful sleeping form next to him. She was a lovely sight first thing in the morning, or any time of the day for that matter. The owl kept tapping against the window, drawing him out of his Ginny-starring reverie.<p>

"Alright," Harry mumbled. "I'm coming." He opened the window and saw a beautiful barn owl with what looked like a magazine. He took it from the owl and the bird flew away. Harry unrolled the magazine and found a letter:

_Dear Harry and Ginny,_

_This is an advanced copy of _the Quibbler_. I have a special report on Ron and Hermione's wedding on page seven, after the article on vampires._

_Lots of love,_

_Luna_

Harry went back to his bed with _the Quibbler_ in hid hands. Ginny was awake.

"Who sends a bloody owl at six o'clock in the morning?" she asked grumpily.

"Luna," Harry answered before giving her a light kiss.

That instantaneously improved Ginny's mood. She took the magazine and opened it.

"I wonder what Luna has put in there," Ginny asked with clear humour in her voice.

"Yes," Harry echoed. "She's one of a kind, Luna. But Hermione insisted on giving the exclusive to Luna and _the Quibbler_. Hermione never does anything without thinking," Harry started.

"She just married Ron," Ginny interrupted cheekily.

"Trust me, Love, I spent several months in close quarters with the pair of them. I love her dearly, like a sister really, but Hermione can be a piece of work too."

"Alright, they are a pair of nutters deserving of one another," Ginny laughed affectionately.

"They are your brother and best friend and they are my best friends," Harry feigned indignation as he looked back at the magazine.

"You know what they say: hippogriffs of a feather," Ginny started.

Harry interrupted her quickly, an odd smile on his face, between amusement and disbelief.

"Look at the picture, Ginny. I know why Hermione chose Luna. Only Luna could pull something like that."

As she took a peek, Ginny became silent, not knowing whether to laugh or wipe a tear of happiness. As expected Luna had not gone for a traditional wedding photograph. She had instead captured the newlywed in a strange but tender moment. Ron and Hermione had been standing together and seemingly alone in a corner of the Burrow's garden, where the reception had happened. They were still wearing their wedding apparel, Ron looking tall, freckly, and unabashedly happy in new traditional black dress robes and Hermione wearing a simple but elegant white dress with an orange satin sash, the lacy sleeves of which had been rolled up. Her hair was unpinned and all out in its natural bushy glory and holding a single flower. She looked excited, not unlike a child promised his first ride on a broomstick, as she was holding a garden gnome by his feet. Ron was standing behind her, guiding her arms and body in the launch of the unfortunate gnome. As the gnome flew into an unknown direction, Hermione turned around, visibly pleased with herself and gave a quick kiss of joy to Ron. He smiled happily at her and his lips were seen to murmur "Welcome to being a Weasley". He then kissed her almost chastely and it was easy to read the "I love you" on his lips and mirrored on hers as she put her head on the crook of his neck, all smiles.

Luna had added a short caption: _At last, my friends Ron and Hermione have rid themselves of all the Wrackspurts and found happiness. As for the garden gnome, I caught him and let him bite me as it is a well known fact that garden gnome saliva is extremely beneficial._

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><p><strong>AN** _Short entry but I am back from vacation. For the garden gnome, it was something a bit off the beaten path because I can't imagine a fully traditional wedding for these two. I know I always enjoyed the passages where they were mentioned in the books. De-gnoming is such a Weasley thing. It actually sounds like a fun activity, in moderation and when not ordered by Mrs. Weasley. ;)_

_As a separate note, I got to see the movie again, in French this time and it was somewhat hilarious to hear the actors with French voices as I'm really used to the original voices. _

_Final note, I am still taking prompts, so don't be shy if you have ideas. I have received a few good ones and my brain is churning on the next chapter...  
><em>


	20. Growing Up

**A/N**_ Did I tell everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted on this story how wonderful you are lately? Well, here it is: you are wonderful. Also, I want to thank everyone who send me excellent ideas for new chapters. I think I have enough to hold me for a while (and I need to have my brain work overtime to find stories that do them justice.) So thank you!  
><em>

_This new chapter was inspired by suggestion from **1215rascal**. This inspired reader suggested a chapter showing how our three heroes have grown so fast and using pictures of them doing child stuff. So this chapter is all about growing up.__ A big thank you for the prompt.  
><em>

_And by the way, this is my 20th chapter. I never imagined I would take this story this far so thank you for all the encouragements.  
><em>

_Please read and review._

_Disclaimer: In my dreams, I have written Harry Potter and Ron Weasley is real... Darn, reality hitting..._

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><p><strong>Growing up<br>**

Mr. Granger rose abruptly, anger seething through him. He slammed the door as he exited the room, leaving his befuddled wife and the three young people behind him. He found refuge in his study. He had just found his study back, along with his London home, after living a lie for nearly a year in Australia as Wendell Wilkins. Oddly enough, he remembered all the past year of the lie along with his previous life.

All of this because of magic. All of it because his only daughter, his pride and joy, his lovely Hermione, had decided to use this special gift of hers on her parents.

He picked up the ornate photo frame that sat on his desk. There was his daughter, as a nine-year-old girl having the time of her he life at the British Museum. It was one of the few photos she had kept when she had wiped herself out of everything in their life, including photos. The younger Hermione had eyes full of wonder, absorbing all the ancient history around her. She had always been a curious child. She had always been special, his daughter, his only child. He missed the little girl who had always come to him, had shared his love of books and thirst of learning.

What had become of his little girl? The person who sat in the other room had manipulated his memory, misusing her special gift to willingly exclude him from her life. To protect him she had said. The girl who sat in the other room had lost the spark in her eyes that his little Hermione had always had. In its stead, there was a haunted expression that he couldn't erase from his memory.

She had come back to him after the enchantment had been lifted. The two boys she had talked so much about all these years had accompanied her. He supposed they should be called young men but they really were only eighteen. They didn't look any better than her and were far removed from the young somewhat carefree boys he had met a few times at King's Cross station over the years. They had come with her to support her and help her tell her tale of unspeakable evil, war, and death.

He had listened as they had spun their story of constantly being on the run, living in a tent, arguing, escaping death. He had listened as she had clinically related how she had been tortured. His anger, that had started when he had learned of how she had manipulated his memory, had then reached a new high. Mr. Granger had not missed how Harry had held her hand or how Ron had protectively put an arm around her, while his eyes had suddenly become misty. His little girl had been hurt. She then had had the audacity to dismiss it for, as she had so plainly put it, she was lucky to be among the ones who had survived, unlike some of their friends or Ron's brother. Lucky? Lucky to have been "only" tortured? Hearing her understate what she had gone through had been what pushed his anger to the point he had to leave.

He just wanted to hurt someone, throw things around, or simply turn time back to when his little Hermione was just an innocent girl whose idea of fun and adventure was a trip to the British Museum.

As he took another look at the photo, he heard his wife come in the study.

"Darling?" she inquired.

"She almost died," he finally exploded. "She was tortured for Heaven's sake. My little girl was tortured and I couldn't protect her because she had put us out of her life," he croaked.

"She did it because she thought it was best. She did it to protect us, because she loves us. I don't condone it but I understand why she did it," his wife spoke in a clear and calming voice. "She's not a little girl anymore."

"Oh bollocks! She's only eighteen."

"Don't use foul language!" she admonished him. "She has seen and has fought things we can't even fathom. But she is still Hermione. She is still our daughter. She is still special," she added quietly. "And she has friends, true friends, who are ready to protect her."

"That Ron boy is more than a friend if you ask me," he retorted sarcastically.

"Certainly, but he is at least six inches taller than you and admit it, they are old enough to figure that out for themselves. Now, come on. We need you back. She is your only daughter and she needs us too."

He put the photo of the young Hermione back on his desk. Mrs. Granger took his arm and led him back to the living room where his daughter and the two boys were still sitting, somewhat uneasily. He took a look at Hermione and she looked back at him, worry etched on her face, as if she was seeking his approval. As he attempted a weak smile, he saw the twinkle of understanding in her eyes, like he had when she had been a little girl and they had communicated silently through their eyes. His wife was right: Hermione would always be his little girl, even if she could do magic, even if she had become a celebrity in her world, and even if that boyfriend of hers was six inches taller than him.

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><p>Arthur Weasley opened the memo that had just landed on his desk. He read it twice and was overcome by emotion. He took one of the many photo frames that adorned his desk, thinking he needed to work on a charm that would allow him to display photos in a rotating fashion, rather than crowd whatever little workable space he had on his desk. Hadn't Hermione mentioned some Muggle device that allowed to do just that?<p>

He looked at the photo of his youngest son. Ron was only nine on the photo. He had not met Harry Potter yet. Arthur reminisced affectionately how he had grown closer to his younger son that year as the twins had finally gone to Hogwarts and Ron had been the only boy left at the Burrow. They had played chess together and Ron had won more times than not, already displaying his unique talent. Ron was smiling proudly on the photo having just soundly defeated his much older father in a valiantly played game of wizard chess. They had played the game a lot that year. They had also spent a lot of time talking.

It had all started serendipitously. Arthur had caught Ron in the shed where he kept all his Muggle artifacts. Ron had been in the middle of eating a couple of chocolate frogs. He had hastily tried to make the evidence disappear as Arthur had approached but Arthur had seen. Ron had pleaded not to inform Molly who frowned upon such sweets barely an hour before supper. Arthur had remained serious for a full minute before bursting into laughter much to the annoyance of his youngest son. Arthur had then retrieved a small box on a top shelf and had produced a treasure trove of sweets, including a fair amount of chocolate frogs. Father and son had spent more time together after that, talking about many things, while munching on chocolate frogs, sheltered from Molly's eagle eyes in Arthur's shed. Arthur had discovered first hand his youngest boy's extraordinary ability for wizard chess, his awkwardness in dealing with a body and limbs that always seemed too long, his deep insecurities living in five older brothers' shadows, his natural talent for skimming stones and making sardonic jokes. And Arthur hadn't been worried about the inane amount of sweets the boy ate: nothing could ruin his appetite for one of Molly's delicious meals.

His boy had grown, losing some of the youthful innocence he had had that autumn (a war would do that to you) and gaining in self-confidence as he became a well-respected Auror and married the love of his life. As the piece of parchment still sitting on the desk had announced, the little boy who smiled that crooked smile so happily on the photo had just become a father himself.

Arthur took one last look at the youngest Weasley boy as he put his cloak on, preparing to Apparate to St. Mungo's to meet his newest granddaughter. He then rummaged through the drawers of his desk until he found what he was looking for: a chocolate frog was in order to welcome the little Rose into the world.

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><p>Albus loved looking at all the photos that graced the walls of his house. His Dad always said that he had grown with only photos of his annoying cousin Dudley and he wanted something a bit more varied and appealing in his own home. Albus wasn't sure about the "varied" part. There were so many photos of ginger people. Well, his Dad wasn't and neither was he but most of his relatives were, including his siblings.<p>

At the moment, Albus was looking at two photos that had always intrigued him. Both pictures were of his dad, his uncle Ron and his aunt Hermione. In one of them, they looked like they were a bit younger than Teddy, maybe twelve. They looked quite happy on it. Actually, they looked like they just had a laughing fit, their faces still set on that wonderful grin one gets after laughing until it hurts. The second was a much different photo. They looked older, much older even if Albus knew they were only nineteen on it. He couldn't miss the easy-going camaraderie still going on between them. There were small gestures, even present on a photo. Uncle Ron had his arm wrapped tightly around Aunt Hermione's shoulders and her head was sitting on his chest. His Dad stood on the other side of Uncle Ron. He was holding the hand of Aunt Hermione and had Uncle Ron's other arm resting on his shoulder. They looked happy to be with each other and yet, even in the untrained eye of seven-year-old Albus, it looked like the smile didn't fully reach their eyes.

Albus jumped as a warm hand landed on his shoulder. He heard a familiar chuckle.

"Sorry, Al, I didn't want to startle you. Looking at photos again?" his Dad asked him.

"Dad, when were these two photos taken?" Albus asked.

"Ah, let's see," Harry pondered. "Ah yes, the first one was taken in our second year. Your Uncle Ron had just vomited ample amounts of slugs…"

"Slugs?" Al asked with an undisguised look of disgust on his face.

"Ron had tried to defend Hermione's honour when someone called her a very unpleasant thing but the charm backfired," his father explained. "Once it was over, we were able to laugh about it. It was actually quite comical although I wouldn't recommend eating slugs," Harry added with a grin.

"And the other one?" Al inquired, instantly sobering his father up.

"Your Mum took that one. It was when she and Aunt Hermione went back to Hogwarts after the war," Harry summarised not wanting to burden his younger son with all the emotions that had resulted from the Battle of Hogwarts. Ginny had taken the photo when Ron and he had returned for the first time to Hogwarts after the battle. Seeing the school again had been difficult. Instead of the happy recollections he had previously harbored when thinking of Hogwarts, he had been assailed with memories of crumbled walls, jinxes, and dead bodies. He had admired Hermione and Ginny for being able to go back.

Al pulled him out of his reminiscing:

"Dad, you're doing it again. You're like on the photo, you smile, but your eyes are…" Al looked for words before finally whispering: "sad". He resumed "Dad, what happened between the photos?"

Harry was taken aback by his son's perceptiveness. He couldn't burden the boy with the real answer: a war, a battle against evil, dying –literally- and losing any shred of innocence he might have had left from his childhood. So he decided on a short but truthful answer:

"We grew up, Al."

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><p><strong>AN **_that's it for this chapter. I have always assumed Hermione found her parents back after the war and lifted the charm. But I can't think of any parent being happy to having been placed in such a situation. Just my take on it. _


	21. Fathers

**A/N**_ I will start by my usual thank you to all who read, review or alert on this story. I may repeat myself but it means a lot.  
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_This new chapter deals with fathers. The idea was inspired by a comment from Gilraen Vardamir who suggested something about Ron being a Daddy. Since I usually do three entries and Ron only has two children (at least that we know of, maybe a third one happened after the epilogue), I included one entry from Rose's POV, one from Hugo and one completely unrelated to Ron, but still on the theme of fathers. I hope having Draco in the mix won't ruin it for all fans of Ron as a Daddy. And no, there is nothing about Ron and Draco being related in any sense... although it seems they are actually cousins at some umpteenth degree if I remember from the books but I digress..._

_So thank you to Gilraen Vardamir for the idea and I hope you enjoy. Leave me a review to let me know what you think (I can't believe I am getting close to 200!)  
><em>

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me..._

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><p><strong>Fathers<strong>

Rose was fumbling with her wand to unlock the door of her flat. The task was rendered difficult by the fact she had Scorpius's hands framing her face and his lips attached to hers. She managed to open the door, taking a very brief second to congratulate herself to be able to concentrate enough to perform magic in such a distracted state. She used her wand to slam the door shut and led Scorpius directly to her bedroom, his hands and lips never leaving their position.

They landed on the bed and rolled around, discarding clothes, exposing skin. Scorpius was lying on his back, a gorgeous woman straddling him, and moaning his satisfaction at the situation when he briefly opened his eyes and saw it.

Standing there on the bedside table, two piercing blue eyes were staring at him from their photograph frame. They were the same blue eyes as Rose's. Here was Ron Weasley staring at him while Scorpius was in the middle of a moment no father ever wanted to imagine his beloved daughter involved in.

Scorpius tried to reason with himself. It was only a photo. It wasn't as if Rose's father was actually there with them. And speaking of Rose, she was sitting on top of him, wearing nothing but her underwear and she seemed to be on a mission to send him into bliss with skilled caresses and kisses. She was his girlfriend after all and this wasn't their first try at this. Far from it, he thought as a goofy grin spread on his face. Just as he smiled, he couldn't help turning his eyes, seeing the photo again. He just tensed.

Rose sensed he had frozen and stopped her ministrations.

"What is the matter?" she asked him.

Scorpius decided that being honest would be the best route:

"Your dad, he's looking at us."

"What?" she shot back in confusion, looking around as if expecting to see her Dad.

Scorpius gestured to the photo.

"There, the photo. It's like he's looking at us."

Rose burst out laughing, a joyous laugh that he loved so much.

"Honestly, it's only a photo. There's also Mum and Hugo somewhere on the other side. I thought for a minute Dad was actually here."

"Well," Scorpius started, slightly vexed by her mocking him, "it really feels like he's here, thinking of a hundred and one ways to hex certain parts of my anatomy so I can't use them with you."

"Ah Scorpius, she said gently. This is where you don't understand Dad."

"You believe he doesn't want to hex me for being your boyfriend and doing what we're about to do? Because I am quite certain he would like nothing else."

"Certainly. But his sense of denial is stronger. I am his little girl. He can't fathom I am a normal twenty-year-old woman with normal, erm, needs, even if a part of him is very aware of what we're doing. He just gives into denial because it's easier. See, it's perfectly simple, isn't it?"

Scorpius frowned at her.

"I didn't come here to speak about the byzantine ways your father's mind works. Could you please, just please, move the photo somewhere else or turn it around?"

She gave him a tender smirk and turned the photo frame around.

"Better?" she asked him.

"Loads. Now, where were we?"

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><p>His arm was hurting, still reeling from the mark that had just been etched in it. He knew of no potion or charm that would diminish the pain. But it was worth it, Draco thought as he looked at the photo of his father in the <em>Daily Prophet<em>. Lucius Malfoy was the latest resident of Azkaban, all because of Potter and his fucking friends. Potter would pay, Draco promised himself. They would all pay for having caused his father's fall from grace. But Draco had to focus on his mission first.

As the pain manifested itself again, Draco briefly wondered whether he really had been assigned what amounted to a suicide mission just to punish his father for his shortcomings in serving the Dark Lord? It didn't matter. He would make his father proud and complete the mission. He just had no other option he thought as he folded the newspaper with his father's picture. Either he would succeed or neither he nor his parents would survive. The branding on his arm had just sealed his fate.

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><p>Hugo Weasley sometimes forgot who his father was. Well, he knew it was Ron Weasley, the man who had taught him how to play chess, fly a broomstick, or, much to Mum's annoyance, swear. Although in that department and many others, like impetuousness, gluttony and fondness for chocolate, Rose was a lot more like Dad than Hugo was.<p>

Nevertheless, there was no denying who his father was, especially when Hugo took a look in the mirror: same lanky body, same red hair and blue eyes, and, to Hugo's dismay, same freckles. Hugo hated freckles. They always made him look like he had some dirt on his nose.

What Hugo forgot about was that the funny and loving man, who adored Mum and couldn't say no to Rose, was also a celebrated war hero. It came back every now and then, as it did now as he perused his history of magic book and fell face to face with a photo of his Dad. It was a much younger version of him included in the chapter covering the second wizarding war. Of course, there were photos of Uncle Harry and some of Mum too.

Hugo loved his Dad unconditionally and knew the feeling was reciprocated. Nevertheless, looking at eighteen year old Ron Weasley and reading about all he had done always made Hugo appreciate and love his father more.

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><p><strong>AN** _That's it for this one. Sorry it was a bit short. Next update should be up in 7 to 10 days._

_Cheers!  
><em>


	22. Pets

**A/N**_ As promised, here is a new chapter. This one was inspired by a suggestion from **milan4ever** who had a great idea to write about pets since our three heroes are pet lovers in their own rights._

_Thank you for the great prompt. _

_A big thank you also to all who read this collection of stories and special thanks to the ones who take the time to leave a review. Those really make my day so if you enjoy (or if you hate this), please let me know through a review._

_Disclaimer: as much as I wish otherwise, I don't own Harry Potter_

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><p><strong>Pets<strong>

Ron observed her from his bunk bed. For once, Hermione wasn't reading. Instead, she had pulled her photo album. For some reason, looking at pictures seemed to appease her. He knew she missed her parents and felt guilty for having willingly changed their memory. He understood. He missed his family too and felt guilty for the worry he knew he was causing his mother.

He knew Hermione also missed Harry. Even though the Chosen One was sitting a few feet from them at the entrance of the tent, their friend had been unlike himself since they had escaped Xenophilius Lovegood's house. He was moody, kept to himself, and seemed quite obsessed with the so-called deathly hallows. Once again, Ron understood Hermione's feeling as he missed his best mate too.

And Ron knew Hermione missed him, the same way he missed her. Certainly, things had improved and they were talking again and had even had interesting conversations about where to go next to find the ever elusive Horcruxes. But it wasn't like before, before he had left and abandoned her and Harry. He wondered how long it would take for her to completely forgive him for this dreadful mistake. He wondered how long it would take to forgive himself, if he ever would.

He sighed heavily and rose to join her. She let him sit next to her and even smiled briefly at him. He tried to quell down the palpitations this caused him and asked her casually:

"Who are you looking at?"

"Crookshanks," she answered truthfully as she showed him the picture of the bandy-legged ginger cat with a smashed face and a bottle-brush tail.

Ron didn't know what to say. The beast, erm cat, and he had never really got along. The cat always looked at him with his clever eyes, as if planning his early demise. Crookshanks was also the last thing Ron had imagined Hermione would miss. As if reading his mind, she smiled sadly and told him:

"This is the first time I have been away from him since he became my cat. I know you don't care much for him…"

"That's not true," Ron lied.

"Don't lie, Ron. Crookshanks and you aren't fond of each other."

"Well, I'm more of a dog person," Ron defended himself. "You know, my Patronus is a dog," he added for emphasis. "A bloody terrier," he thought to himself.

"I do know," she said somewhat amused. "Anyway, I know Crookshanks and you are… How shall I put it? Unappreciative of one another," she offered. "But you have a lot in common: ginger hair,"

He scoffed at this:

"So does everyone in my family. I reckon he fits right in at the Burrow,"

She ignored him and continued:

"You're both smart."

Oh, now she thought he was smart. He knew she had uttered her "rack your brain, Ron, it should only take a couple of seconds" out of hurt and anger. But it had stung nonetheless. And now she said she found him smart. Well, she was comparing him to her bloody cat. Before he had time to think whether or not to feel insulted, she continued:

"And I do miss you both when you're not around. Quite a lot, actually," she added quietly as her hand went to rest on his.

The contact of her fingers on his skin felt heavenly. Her words and her touch finally quelled any doubt he had she would forgive him. She wanted to be around him. And Crookshanks was the reason she had admitted it aloud to him. For the first time in his life, Ron actually fell some gratitude toward the squashed-faced feline.

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><p>"How did I miss that Scabbers was a bloody impostor?" Ron asked aloud. Harry lifted his eyes to look at Ron, wondering where the question had come from since they were in the middle of a game of chess. He followed Ron's eyes to the picture that stood on the book shelf next to them. Here was the Weasley family during their trip to Egypt. Pettygrew stood on Ron's shoulder as Scabbers the rat.<p>

"Well, I reckon you thought he was a rat, like we all did," Harry replied evenly as he moved a pawn.

"He was rubbish as a rat too," Ron mumbled as he studied the chess board and saw an opportunity.

"But you liked him, I mean, as a rat, didn't you? You took him with you to Egypt," Harry said pointing at the picture. "And remember how much grief you gave Hermione when you thought Crookshanks had killed him."

"Alright, maybe I was a bit distraught when I thought that bloody beast had eaten him. I didn't know what Scabbers was and well, I missed him, as rubbish as he had been. And alright, maybe it was a bit wrong to be mean to Hermione," Ron finally admitted as he set a trap for Harry's queen.

"A bit wrong? You didn't speak to each other for months!" Harry said sarcastically as he moved his queen straight into Ron's trap.

"Fine, I was completely out of bonds. Happy? And please don't tell her I said that," Ron added as Harry snorted.

"Her bloody cat is still a beast," Ron said under his breath as he made his final move.

"Check mate!"

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><p>What a day it had been, Harry reflected as he tossed around in his cot bed. He was now safe at the Burrow, sleeping -or at least trying to- in his best mate's room. Harry turned toward Ron and could see his outline in the darkness of the room. He could hear Ron's even breathing and light snores and felt both happy and envious: happy Ron was safe and envious that he could sleep so peacefully after the events of the day.<p>

Mad-Eye was dead. Ollivander was probably not faring much better, Harry thought grimly as the scenes of torture he had involuntarily witnessed replayed in his mind and made him nauseated.

And then there was Hedwig. His beloved owl was dead. His only link to the magical world during all these summers spent at Privet Drive, she had been his companion, a confident of kind, hearing his frustration at being kept away from the world he belonged to and bringing him delight through the letters from Ron, Hermione, or Sirius that she had delivered.

He took his wand and murmured a quiet "Lumos" toward his rucksack so as not to wake Ron. He rummaged through the content and found what he was looking for. It was a drawing he had made of Hedwig when he was eleven. It was childish to keep such a memento. He would turn seventeen in a few days and would be of age. The picture barely resembled the majestic owl, Harry having never been that talented at drawing. Yet, he was comforted as he recognised his beloved pet, the way she had been in her lifetime. That was a much nicer image than the one that kept forcing its way into his brain between glimpses of an earless George or an agonizing Ollivander: a motionless Hedwig lying at the bottom of her cage, her life snuffed out by a green jet of light intended for him.

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><p><strong>AN** _I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter should be up in 7 to 10 days._


	23. Fear

**A/N**_ I want to give a big thank you to all who keep reading these little snapshots. I would like to give a special thank to all who reviewed last chapter. I am glad to know I am not the only one who thought it was unfair to kill poor Hedwig. _

_This new chapter is about __**fear**__. Given the nature of the books, there is a lot of fear throughout and our little Gryffindors most often rise up to the challenge. However, I didn't want to make it all dark so one of the entries is a much lighter one than the others. I hope you enjoy. If yes, please do leave a review._

_Disclaimer: I am only paid in reviews to write this…_

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><p><strong>Fear<strong>

Andromeda woke up and, as she did every morning these days, she took the picture that stood on her bedside table and gave it a light peck. It was childish really, and not befitting to a woman about to be a grandmother but she couldn't help it. Of course, she would much rather have had Ted in person, his warm and comfortable shape next to her but she only had a photograph, and sometimes, when she was lucky, she would receive a visit from his Patronus to let her know he was fine. Her fingers traced the familiar smile on the picture. Ted was always so full of life. It was why she had fallen for him in the first place. He was winking back at her from the frame and she couldn't help the grin that blossomed on her face.

Her smile faltered as she realised today marked a week since she had last seen his Patronus. She hated not knowing where he was but she had agreed with him that it was better for him to go on the run. She had wanted to come with him but he had told him she was safe because she was a pure-blood. She had argued with him on this. The Longbottoms and the Weasleys were pure-blood too and it was no secret that they were tracked and it was only a matter of time before they would be in as much danger as Muggle-born. But she had understood he also wanted her to look after Dora and her child-to-be. So she had agreed to stay and now she lived in constant fear. Fear she would never see his wide smile, fear he would never wink back at her, fear Dora's child may never hear his grandfather's booming laugh. One week! He had never let her more than five days without news. No, she couldn't let the fear overwhelm her. It was counterproductive. She had to think of Dora.

She had breakfast and started her day as she would, writing a few letters and reading. She was in the middle of an interesting book when she heard the knock at the door and the familiar voice of Remus.

"Andromeda! Please open."

It was odd to have Remus visit her in the morning. They exchanged the usual safety questions and answers and she let him in.

"Is something the matter with Dora, Remus?"

He looked so shabby and much older than she knew him to be. His face was unreadable though.

"Remus?"

"No, Dora is fine, as is the baby. It's… it's Ted."

She felt the tears come down her cheeks as she listened to him telling her about how they had found Ted's body, along with the ones of Dirk Cresswell and a goblin. All her fears had come true.

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><p>Luna thought fear was overrated. She never felt the same fright as the other Hogwarts students when she had disobeyed the dictatorial rules set by Umbridge and joined Harry and friends in Dumbledore's Army. She had known she was doing the right thing. She hadn't dreaded the Carrows and their brutal methods either and had been proud of assisting Neville and Ginny in reforming Dumbledore's Army and co-leading it in Harry's absence. She had not been afraid when she had been caught trying to steal Gryffindor's sword, nor when she had been sent to the Forbidden Forest, not even after the Carrows had started making the Cruciatus curse as common as a hovering charm in Hogwarts corridors. To the contrary, she had redoubled her effort with Neville and Ginny.<p>

Even now, as she sat in the dark in the musky cellar of what she thought was Malfoy Manor, listening to Mr. Ollivander's laboured breathing and wondering what would happen to her, she felt serene. She closed her eyes and willed the picture in her head. She always thought of the large photograph that stood in her bedroom back home, the one where she was hugging her mother. She remembered vividly how warm Mum had always felt when she had hugged her. She could see her Mum if she closed her eyes. She could see her long dirty blond hair and large eyes. And she knew she didn't have to fear anything. Her Mum was still there, never really fully gone, and she would keep the promise she had made in her living time to always protect her darling Luna.

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><p>"Marry me… please." came Ron's voice.<p>

"No bloody way. I may have a thing for red hair, but you're really not my type. And there is no need to beg," was the answer Harry gave as he entered their shared office.

Ron almost jumped in his seat and dropped the frame he had been holding. He let out an imaginative curse and picked up the frame. Harry was standing in front of him.

"Piss off, Harry."

That made Harry's grin widen.

"Honestly, Ron, how long have you had the ring?"

"One month," mumbled Ron.

"You need to move on asking the real Hermione, rather than a picture, you know."

"I know. Don't you think I fucking know? I'm just… scared," Ron finally admitted.

"Scared of what? Hermione? Come on, Ron," Harry said as he took the photo from Ron. He took one look at the familiar face: the bushy brown hair, the brown eyes that seemed to have a special spark in them he had not seen before. He gasped as he saw the smile on Hermione's face. It was definitely a come-hither smile that he hoped never to see on his friend's face while she looked at him.

"All right," Harry conceded, "I would be scared if Hermione ever looked at me with this smile. Merlin Ron, this is almost indecent."

"That's rich coming from the bloke who can't seem to keep his hands off my sister's backside," Ron retorted. "Seriously, Harry, I am scared she will say no. I'm scared she will realise she's the brightest witch of her age and I'm just…

"Just what? Ron?" Harry asked as he turned back to being serious. He actually looked almost angry. "Just what?" he repeated." A well-respected war hero? An accomplished Auror? A man who has risked his life over and over for her, for me, for your family. Ron, you need to stop that shite. You're not seventeen anymore. Hermione is completely mad about you and you about her. You belong together."

Ron felt a rush of gratitude for Harry for vanquishing the last of his deep-seated insecurities.

"Cheers, Harry!"

"Thank me when you ask her, tonight, and when she says yes."

"You're sure she will?"

Harry just rolled his eyes and just mumbled: "As sure as I am the Chudley Cannons will not make the championship."

Buoyed by Harry's words, Ron did face his fear and finally asked Hermione if she wanted to marry him that very evening. As Harry had forecast, she answered an enthusiastic yes.

And the Cannons didn't make it to the Quidditch championship that year either.

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><p><strong>AN** _Ok, I thought Ron might be a bit slow in the marriage proposal department, given how long it took him to finally admit how he felt about Hermione and that she was the one to kiss him. But I figured more mature Ron may not need years... Just a little speech from Harry would be enough ;)_

_I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know in a review. OK, I am begging so I'll stop here. Next chapter should be up in 7 to 10 days…_


	24. Pride

**A/N**_ Sorry about the long delay in getting this chapter up. I had the idea for the theme for a while and had to think on how to incorporate the picture element, especially in the first snippet. I took some liberty and used a mirror reflection as one of the pictures but I think it works over all. I am also working on another multi-chapter story I have wanted to write for a while and this has taken away from the time I usually use to write __**Pictures.**_

_The theme in this chapter is __**pride**__. There are a few variations on the theme, as pride comes in several flavours, and a double dose of Ron/Hermione._

_As always, thank you so much to all who read this story and a special acknowledgment to those who are so kind to leave review. Please don't feel shy about leaving another one (nudge-nudge, wink-wink) if you enjoy this chapter._

_Disclaimer: in a parallel universe, I am a very famous author who has written some of the most successful books of all times. In reality, I don't own Harry Potter._

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><p><strong>Pride<strong>

Hermione took a deep breath and peered at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn't had a full-size mirror in over six months, since they left Grimmauld Place in a hurry. But you could depend on a half-Veela woman to have several full-length mirrors in her house.

The picture she saw looking back at her was barely recognisable. Her hair had grown and was bushier than ever. There were dark circles under her eyes, from lack of sleep. Unfortunately, as comfortable as Shell Cottage was with its cosy bed, it didn't prevent her sleep from being populated by nightmares where she was tortured or much worse happened.

She noticed her skin was still smooth and creamy. Her skin had always been her pride. She might have ghastly hair and perfectly ordinary eyes and body, but her skin had always been soft and unblemished. She might not be the type of girl who dwelled too much on her appearance but having nice skin had always been a source of pride.

But now, she saw the thin angry red line that marred her neck. One could argue that having nice skin and being dead would have been somewhat counterproductive but she still hated the scar on her neck. Her fingers went to touch it and felt its uneven edges. She closed her eyes and let a silent tear roll down her cheek.

She didn't hear Ron until he was standing next to her. She opened her eyes and liked the new picture she saw in the mirror: both of them, side by side, like a couple. He was looking at their reflection in the mirror too. As her hand automatically went to cover the scar, he grabbed it and gently took it down, instead placing his long fingers ever so softly on the ugly mark. He looked at her in the mirror and saw her close her eyes again. She stood rigid, lest she let him know what fire the gentle touch was lighting inside of her.

"Does it hurt?" he asked her with concern in his voice as his hand abruptly dropped and she felt a little bereavement at the loss of his touch.

"No, not physically. Fleur gave me good potions," she announced with a sad smile, still looking at him through the mirror. "It's just that... that it's ugly."

"That's fucking mental Hermione," he told her fiercely before he caught her bewildered look in the mirror. "Sorry," he said, obviously struggling for the words that would properly convey his feelings. "It isn't, Hermione. There is nothing that could be ugly on you."

His ears reddened as he realised what he had said but he held her now surprised and somewhat grateful gaze in the mirror.

"What that bitch did to you, that's what was ugly. But that," he said as his fingers went back to gently touch the red mark and she closed her eyes happily again, "that proves your courage. That proves you were smarter than her. You shouldn't hide it. You should be proud of it," he finished in hushed tones as his fingers went to rest on her shoulder and she instantly missed them on her skin.

She smiled at him shyly in the mirror before lowering her eyes. She then looked again at herself in the mirror and the picture she saw was somewhat different. First, there was the tall red-haired man standing next to her, the amazing tall red-haired man who managed through his somewhat awkward words to make her feel better. And then, she was there. Her hair didn't feel that bushy anymore, nor did her eyes and body feel ordinary. And she was still proud of her skin, ugly scar and all.

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><p>Neville held the letter and photo his grandmother had sent him. He had read the letter ten, maybe fifteen times. Gran was on the run and had managed to thwart Dawlish. That thought alone was exhilarating. But there was one passage that came back, one that was etched on his brain with every loopy letter and dotted i of his grandmother's scrawny handwriting. "I am so proud to call you my grandson. Keep the fight, Neville. You are an amazing young man."<p>

His Gran had also sent him an older picture of his parents. They looked so happy and proud as they held a small baby he recognised as himself. His Gran had also written a little note behind it: "They would be very proud too."

Neville put the letter and the photo carefully in his pocket. Almost seventeen years of raising him and his Gran had never told him she was proud of him, until now. And it felt wonderful. He had always been proud of his parents and what they had done. He was now also proud of his Gran and, if he was earnest, of himself. Now he had to find a way to hide from the Carrows as they wouldn't hesitate anymore about getting rid of him.

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><p>"Good evening, everyone," Ron said as he entered the house. It had been a long day at work and he was happy to be back to his family: Hermione, Hugo. He felt a bit bereft as he remembered that Rose was now at Hogwarts.<p>

"I am in the study," came Hermione's answer.

As he reached the study, he found Hermione at her desk, writing feverishly with a well-used quill, several books in front of her. He smiled at the vision he would never tire of and gave her a short kiss before asking her:

"Where's Hugo?"

"Round Harry and Ginny's. He's with Lily, he will be back tomorrow morning," answered Hermione.

While he should have been thrilled to have an evening alone with Hermione, Ron felt somewhat lonely without his two children around. He looked around, saw the frames on Hermione's desk, one for each child. He picked up Rose's picture. It had only been ten days since he waved her good bye as she sat in the Hogwarts Express but he missed his daughter. He felt the familiar pride as he looked at his beloved daughter.

Hermione saw him look at the picture and quickly announced:

"Oh, we received an owl from Rose today. Her first letter from Hogwarts," Hermione beamed as she handed him the missive. "She seems to be doing well," Hermione added.

He grabbed the letter Hermione was tending him and began reading greedily. He could imagine Rose writing, her tongue sticking out as she applied herself with quill and parchment:

"_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I am sorry it has taken me so long to write. I have settled well at Hogwarts. It is just as amazing as you have both told me and better than _Hogwarts, a History_ makes it sound._

_I was sorted in Gryffindor. No surprise there. Al was too. Professor McGonagall commented that she wondered if there had ever been that many Weasleys in her house at once, but she was rather proud of my addition there, it seems. She can't stop gushing about the pair of you and Uncle Harry. Well, she especially gushes about you, Mum, and how you were the most gifted student she ever had the pleasure of teaching to._

_Speaking of teaching, my first lessons went really well. Professor Flitwick commented how I was a natural at Charms and I got top marks in his class on our first essay. I also received top marks in Herbology (Neville is rather strict as a teacher but seems to have a soft spot for Al and me), Potions, and Defence Against the Dark Arts."_

Ron felt his heart swell with pride again. Of course Rosie would be top of her year in every lesson. She was her mother's daughter after all. He took a look at the photo again and couldn't help the grin that split his face.

He resumed reading:

_"I also need to find someone who wants to play wizard chess with me. Al has given up since he has lost the last thirty games we played. Dad, you seem to be the only person who can beat me now."_

Another swell of pride. She definitely was his daughter too, as the blue eyes looking back at him from the photo reminded him.

"_And finally, I did beat Scorpius Malfoy in all lessons and even beat him at Wizard Chess, although he gave a good game. Actually, Al and I found him rather nice._

_I will write again soon._

_Lots of love,_

_Rose"_

Ron had to reread. His daughter, his little pride and joy, found Scorpius Malfoy to be "rather nice". Then Ron thought he could live with the thought as long as Rose kept besting Malfoy's son in all lessons and beating him at chess.

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><p><strong>AN** _I hope you enjoyed. I got a great suggestion for another chapter and hope to have that one up a bit faster_


	25. First Times

**A/N**_ Okay, back on schedule with a quicker update. Before I go any further, I want to thank everyone who is reading this story and commenting or giving me ideas through reviews. I do try to thank everyone who sends a review (whatever the review) but it bears repeating that authors on this site only get paid in reviews for their work. So the feedback is truly wonderful and, I must say, a little bit addictive... The short version: thank you for being wonderful readers._

_Speaking of readers' suggestions, this chapter was born from the suggestions of two readers. __**Dobbynotdoby1017**__ suggested something about adults telling their children about their first kiss. And __**KariAnn1222**__ suggested a chapter just about first times. So I blended all this together and voilà: a chapter on __**first times**__._

_Fair warning: while the two first snippets are rather light in tone and even humorous, the last one may be seen as slightly sad but I see it as just being part of life._

_Disclaimer: as if..._

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><p><strong>First times<strong>

"Mum, can I look at your old photo album from Hogwarts?" asked Lily.

Rose and James were engaged in a game of wizard chess and Al was playing Exploding Snaps with Hugo, Lily's usual partner in crime. Neither game held any interest for nine-year-old Lily who had been reading some fairy tale instead.

"Of course, Sweetheart," Ginny replied a little absentmindedly. Harry and she were deep in a conversation with Ron and Hermione who had come for a Saturday dinner.

"This case was completely mental," Ron said, talking about a case Harry and he had recently closed after a long and difficult investigation.

"But you caught them," Hermione interjected, pride in her eyes as she looked at both Ron and Harry. "I knew the pair of you would close that case. I had complete faith."

"Cheers," Harry answered, truly grateful.

He was about to speak more when they were interrupted by a very agitated Lily.

"Mum, Dad, is that you on this photo?"

At these words and the excitement in Lily's voice, her brothers and cousins abandoned their respective games and came to look at the picture Lily was talking about, their curiosity obviously piqued.

James made a distinct gagging sound. Al covered his eyes and moaned something resembling "disgusting". Hugo told Rose timidly:

"At least, it's not Mum and Dad for once."

Rose nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Ginny, what type of photo did you put in that album?" Harry inquired in a low voice.

"Not those photos," Ginny replied in the same low voice. Seeing how high Ron's eyebrows shot up and the pink blush on Hermione's face, Ginny realised the exchange had been overheard. She sweetly changed the tone by asking:

"Lily, Sweetheart, could you please bring me the photo."

Lily brought the album and relief was immediate on Ginny's face. As Harry took a look, a dreamy and happy smile bloomed on his lips.

Ron was still afraid of what type of photo that was but his niece preempted him:

"Look, Uncle Ron, it's Mum and Dad and they are kissing. On the mouth," she told him animatedly as she shoved the album under his nose. Instinctively, Ron closed his eyes shut. He had seen enough of his supposed best mate snogging his little sister over the years, thank you very much.

Lily took the album from under him, and Ron dared open his eyes again, especially when Hermione sighed happily and said:

"Oh, I remember this: your first kiss, after the Quidditch match. That was so sweet. Did Colin take the picture?"

"You knew Colin," Ginny answered. "He was always ready with his camera when Harry was involved."

Before anyone had time to say more about the late Colin, Lily asked excitedly:

"How did that happen? How did you kiss?"

"Erm," Harry started a bit embarrassed as he heard another gagging son from his elder son.

"Just play chess, James," Ginny said with obvious amusement. She then took over for Harry knowing their daughter had a keen affinity for romantic stories.

"Well, your Dad had fancied me for a while and I had probably fancied him for a longer time. But we were..." Ginny thought how to best tell her daughter about the other people both Harry and she had been with first. "We had been busy with other things. And Dad was afraid of your Uncle Ron if he found us kissing," Ginny added mischievously.

That earned her a scowl from her brother.

"Why? Uncle Ron is funny. And he is really nice, he gives me chocolate frogs all the time," Lily said.

"Because your uncle Ron thought it was his goal in life to be protective of me," Ginny replied ignoring her daughter's praise for Ron.

"Oh, like a noble knight?" Lily asked again

Ron had a smug grin on his face, enjoying that exchange between his sister and her daughter tremendously.

"That's right, Lily, like a noble knight," Ron told his niece as he gently stroked her brilliant red hair and summoned a chocolate frog from the open box lying next to the chessboard for her.

"Thank you," Lily beamed.

It was Ginny's turn to scowl.

"Ron, she just says that because you bribe her with chocolate, you know. And, Lily, just wait until one of your brothers does that to you, you won't find it so chivalrous," Ginny muttered. "So to go back to our kiss," she paused as Ron groaned and she smiled again. "Your Dad had been in detention."

"Why?"

"Because he spent an awful lot of time in detention," Ron replied.

"And you were with me more times than not," Harry replied cheerfully.

"And we had just played Quidditch and we had won the cup!" Ginny interrupted them. "And your Dad walked in on our celebration and he must have figured your uncle wouldn't hex him in front of so many witnesses and when he himself was in such good mood, so your Dad kissed me."

"For several minutes. No wonder Colin had time to take a photo," Hermione completed with fondness. "It was so nice."

"Hermione had been rooting for your Dad and me for a while so she was happy too," Ginny added cheekily.

"That was really nice," Lily sighed happily. "May I eat the chocolate frog now?"

"Of course, Darling."

As Lily went back to play with her brothers and cousins, Hermione and Ginny started reminiscing affectionately about the events surrounding that first kiss. Harry asked Ron

"You know this one can eat as many chocolate frogs as you?"

"Well, my darling niece," Ron replied somewhat proudly.

"It was fun remembering this," Hermione said.

"No, it wasn't," Ron countered.

Harry had a gleeful smile on his face.

"Ron, Ginny and I are married, have been for almost fifteen years, and have three children. Believe me, this kiss was tame."

"Argh!" Ron groaned.

And then as he remembered:

"What were the other photos Ginny and you were mentioning?"

"I don't think you want to know," Harry replied with a wink.

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><p>Rose could almost feel the excitement coming from outside. The chants to cheer the teams about to enter the Quidditch pitch. She felt her broomstick under her fingertips, revelling in the soft surface and smell of wood polish. She was ready to go. She listened absently to her cousin giving them a final motivational speech, insisting that they must beat Slytherin. For all his cockiness, James was a good captain and leader for Gryffindor Quidditch team.<p>

She then started her pre-match ritual. She reached into an inside pocket of her Quidditch robes and pulled the photo. It was her and her dad, the first time she had ridden a real broomstick. She had only been eight. Of course, she had had toy broomsticks prior to that, of the variety that flew up to two feet above the ground. But that had been a real broomstick that time. Nothing special: it was almost an antique, an old Cleansweep Eleven. Dad had said it was his old broomstick and it was perfect to learn to fly. She had taken a few trips with him on it while Hugo had looked somewhat cross that he wasn't old enough to go with them and Mum had put her hands in front of her eyes. Mum wasn't too keen on broomsticks or anything that went up in the air for that matter. And then Dad had told her she could go on her own. She remembered the sheer pleasure of being able to fully control the broomstick, the exhilarating feeling of freedom as she had soared in the air and the proud grin from Dad that had welcomed her back on the ground. She had herself felt completely euphoric and had smiled beatifically. That was what the photo had immortalised. She enjoyed Quidditch, having a natural competitive streak, but remembering the glee associated with flying, especially the one she had experienced that first time, was always very relaxing before a game.

She put the photo back in her pocket, her secret talisman for the game about to unfurl. She heard a final rallying cry from the Quidditch pitch before the Gryffindor team made an entrance. And the mirth was there as she soared up in the sky.

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><p>Ron lay on the bed, the picture of his beloved Hermione clutched in his hands, his last treasure. He could make out the voices of Rose and Hugo fretting about him, somewhere in the room.<p>

He took a laboured breath and looked at the picture. His blue eyes were now a pale colour, and hooded with heavily wrinkled eyelids. He didn't see that well anymore, especially without his glasses, but he knew the picture by heart. The brown bushy hair, the timid smile, the spark in her intelligent chocolate eyes. Looking at her helped him forget the aches of old age and of his heart that had never truly recovered.

And a still somewhat crooked smile came upon his lined face as he remembered all the first times he had shared with her.

The first time he had made a real friend, she had been there, telling him he had dirt on his nose. He had ended up making two friends after defeating a troll.

The first time he had risked his life for someone else, she had been there as he woke up on a giant chessboard, offering him a shy smile that couldn't hide her relief.

The first time he had wanted to fight on someone's behalf, it had been for her, and she had held him as he had vomited copious amounts of slugs.

The first time he had enjoyed bickering with someone, she had been the one giving him a witty repartee.

The first time he had realised that there was maybe more than friendship between them, she had been there, wearing a beautiful dress and shouting at him he should have asked her first rather than as a last resort.

The first time he had felt good about something terrible happening to him, she had been there, holding his hand and talking to him again as he woke up from being poisoned.

The first time he had known sheer terror, the kind that seeps through your bones, she had been a floor above him, at the mercy of a deranged witch. That was the first time he had wanted with all his heart to kill someone. That was the first time he had wanted to die if it could save her.

The first time he had buried a brother, she had been standing next to him, grieving with him. She had been there too for his other brothers and his parents.

The first time he had made love, it had been with her. It had always been with her, and only her. Why improve on perfection?

The first time he had been called a husband, it had been her doing as she had just removed her lips from his and cried euphorically he was her husband.

And together, they had had a first time welcoming a child, a grandchild, a great-grand-child, and earlier that year a great-great-grand-child.

And then she had been sick, seriously sick for the first time in her very long life. It had been fast. And after she took her last breath, her small hand squeezed by his larger one and wet from the tears he couldn't contain, he had found that his heart just didn't want to go on. She had broken it beyond repair by leaving him behind. For the first time, the will to live had left him.

His fingers tightened around her picture, all he had left of her. In semi-consciousness, he heard Hugo and Rosie talking to him, almost yelling "Dad". But all that mattered was that he was going back to find her. He was going to see her again. They weren't done with first times was his last conscious thought as he breathed for the last time.

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><p><em><strong>AN**__ Two more things:_

_Harry's first kiss with Ginny is probably my favorite scene of Half-Blood Prince. Harry had some gut to kiss Ginny in front of everyone._

_I just want to reassure anybody who may wonder that the last snippet didn't signify the end of this fic. This fic is definitely not linear time-wise so there will still be plenty of Ron/Hermione in future chapters. It was just another way to show their love for one another... till death do us apart style. Let me know what you think..._

_Thank you for reading! Reviews, as always, are very much appreciated.  
><em>


	26. Birthdays

**A/N**_ Sorry this chapter is a bit late but the muse was a bit finicky over the past week. So I spent most of it reading other people's work and that was a nice change. I had time to catch up on a few good stories I had been putting on hold for a while. Inspiration finally struck after reading and here you are: a chapter on **birthdays**._

_This prompt was actually sent to me some time ago by a reader:_ _**drugged-on-chocolate**__. Thank you for the prompt and sorry it took me a while to get the stories. I have been in a bittersweet writing mood lately and it transpires here as even the lighter stories are mixed with more serious emotions. Well, life, even on birthdays, is not always rainbows and unicorns, is it?_

_As always, thank you to everyone who is reading this story, and special thanks to people who take time to review. These little bits are the only feedback authors have to know whether their work is appreciated or not so reviews are always welcome._

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter? Yes, well, not mine... Sigh!_

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><p><strong>Birthdays<strong>

Severus Snape turned the photo in his hand. He had to admire the Muggle technology that had permitted to take the picture and process it right away, an instant capture of happy memories. And memories were all he had left, weren't they?

He reminisced longingly of the day Lily had given her the photo. It had been early February, 1971. They had been sitting under a tree, hiding from that awful sister of hers and also his parents. Not that his parents would have cared about where he was.

Lily had been happy on that day, like she was on most days and he had been delighted to spend a few stolen moments with her, enjoying her infectious smile and escaping the stark reality of his life. She had shown him the beautiful scarf she was wearing.

"Look, Severus, this is what my mum knitted for me for my birthday. Touch it," she invited him as she took his hand and put it on the soft wool. "It's so soft, isn't it?"

He liked the feel of the wool under his fingers. It was soft indeed. But he enjoyed the soft touch of her warm hand on his even more. Nobody took his hand like that. A timid smile escaped his lips and he told her:

"Yes, it is."

She beamed at him and rummaged through the pockets of the heavy coat she was wearing. She retrieved what looked like a photograph.

"Look, it's a photo of me blowing my candles. It's one of these cameras where you take the photo, and then, just like magic, the photo comes out."

He looked at the photo. He saw Lily, her long red hair coming as fiery curtains on each side of her head as she bent to blow the eleven candles on what looked like a homemade cake. He had a sudden longing that he could have been at the party.

"You know it's not magic. Magic photos move," he said somewhat more forcefully than he intended to.

Lily took a look at him and he saw her beautiful green eyes drill into him perceptively.

"They didn't celebrate your birthday, did they?"

He didn't answer. His parents probably wished the day of his birth had never happened, especially his awful Muggle father. Severus didn't need to tell Lily she was the only person who had wished him a happy birthday.

"I am sorry, Severus," she told him softly and there was real empathy in her voice and eyes, but most important to him, no pity. "Would you like the photo?" she asked him spontaneously.

"You don't mind?" he replied gratefully.

"No, I have many others," she replied gently as she handed him the photo.

A few days later, she had met him under the same tree and had some store bought biscuits and candles with her. She told him:

"Happy belated birthday, Severus."

She sang happy birthday to him and they had fun trying to blow candles that kept lighting back right away. He knew she was doing that for him.

She had wished him happy birthday every year since, except today. She hadn't talked to him since May of the previous year, since that dreadful incident where he had called her a Mudblood and the awful row they had had afterward. And she wouldn't today either, even if it was his birthday, he thought bitterly as he looked at the pretty and happy red-haired eleven-year-old girl blowing candles on the old Muggle photo. Nobody would.

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><p>"And here is the cake!" Molly announced triumphantly as she had an enormous owl-shaped cake float into the large dining-room of Aunt Muriel's house.<p>

"An owl, Mum?" George asked.

"Yes, Mum. You did a snitch for Harry last year. Couldn't you do a Skiving Snackbox or an Extendable Ear for us?" chimed Fred.

"I think you two have to be much more grateful for owls these days than any of the products you sell," she told them with a silencing smile. Fred and George knew their mother was definitely aware of the owl order business they ran from Muriel's house now that they had had to close their shop.

"What are they going on about?" asked Muriel irritably. "Frederick, George, you mother made a cake for your birthday. Even if it is dreadful-looking, shouldn't you two brats be thankful?"

"Can we spike the old bat's slice of cake?" Fred asked George under his breath.

"Tempting," George agreed.

Molly was looking at her old Aunt with daggers in her eyes. It was blatant she didn't enjoy her stay at the old woman's house and that she missed her own home.

"Well, Muriel now, I did with what I could find in your kitchen. Frankly, it was a miracle I could produce such a cake with what was there. Now, Arthur, dear, would you mind fetching some candles? Oh, how I wish Charlie, Ron and Bill could be with us." And Percy she thought to herself.

"Mum, Charlie is fine in Romania. He owled _you_ on our birthday, not us," Fred started.

"And Bill came here and he told us Ron, Harry, and Hermione are all right and with Fleur and him at Shell Cottage," George finished.

Ginny was quiet. Having heard that Harry and Hermione, and, yes, even Ron, were okay and safe at Shell Cottage had been a huge relief. She actually would have much rather be in her older brother's house than at old barmy Aunt Muriel's house. She was sure that was everyone's feeling there as Aunt Muriel was anything but a gracious host. Still the old bat did open her very large house for them and even seemed to have a kick out of it. She had muttered that she could start living dangerously now that she was one hundred and eight, even if it meant putting up with an army of red-haired brats.

As she did for each birthday, Molly got her photo album out. "Look at the pair of you," she said with misty eyes, showing a photo of herself, twenty years younger, holding two pale, rather small babies with tufts of light ginger hair.

"Look, George, we were identical," Fred joked.

"Yes, and you were twice harder to birth. Twenty hours it took me," Molly reminisced sentimentally.

"Of for Merlin's sake, Molly, you had already had three children, you should have known what to do by the time these two came along," Muriel told her. "Actually, you should have known by then how not to have any more. Yet, you went on after these two and had Ronald and Ginevra."

Molly glared at her.

"Here we go again, George muttered to Fred, half expecting his mother to explode at her aunt. But Arthur who was coming back to the table with candles announced very diplomatically:

"And we love all of them. And look at Fred and George," he said proudly "Nobody can get a laugh out of people like they can. Merlin knows we can use that right now. Happy birthday, sons!"

"Cheers, Dad," Fred and George told him as one voice.

"We need to find a way of getting Muriel out of the room before your mother hexes her," Arthur whispered in a low voice to Ginny who was next to him.

"I'll take care of it," Ginny whispered back and then louder: "Aunt Muriel, would you fancy another glass of oak-matured mead?"

"Yes, Ginevra, give me more mead before you lot drink all of it," Aunt Muriel demanded.

Ginny poured a glass of mead and handed it to Aunt Muriel who drank it greedily.

Thirty seconds later, they saw that Aunt Muriel had fallen asleep, snoring loudly.

"Ah, well, that's convenient, isn't i? Now, we can celebrate," Molly said and she showed the photo again.

"Mum, you know we are twenty today, right?" George asked her as he gently put an arm around Molly's shoulders.

She smiled at him at told him softly:

"George, I do know. Remember, twenty hours...

"Right, right. I don't need any more details," Fred interrupted her as he got on her other side and also put an arm around her.

That made Molly laugh and she finally said:

"You will always be my little twin babies."

"Yes, we were good looking even as babes in nappies. Bill has nothing on us," George added cheekily.

"I love you both," Molly said as she took one last look at the photo. She then put the photo album back on the table and put an arm around each of them. They both kissed her on the cheek at the same time and said simultaneously.

"Thank you Mum, we love you too."

They then started singing. Ginny admitted she had put some Sleeping Draught in Muriel's drink so the five Weasleys could celebrate the twins' birthday. Her brothers applauded while her father chuckled lightly and her mother feigned to disapprove. They enjoyed the delicious owl-shaped cake that, thanks to Molly's talent, tasted excellent just like anything she cooked. And they drank a fair amount of butterbeer and finished Aunt Muriel's excellent oak-matured mead. For the first time in a while, they laughed.

No-one knew it was the last birthday George and Fred would celebrate together.

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><p>Hermione Apparated to the door of her house and slowly unlocked it. She was home early and wondered if Ron would be home as his schedule was a lot more unpredictable than hers. The last thing she wanted to do was to come home to an empty home, especially not on her birthday, her fortieth one she remembered depressingly.<p>

The minute she opened the door, she was greeted by her old Crookshanks. The feline was getting advanced in age and would probably be dead if he hadn't been part Kneazle. She gently petted his ginger fur while he purred contently. But it was human ginger hair she longed for. She had got used to Rose being at Hogwarts over the two previous years but sending her sweet little boy there too barely two weeks before had been heart-wrenching. Christmas break was a long way away and her house felt empty.

She heard a familiar voice that brought the edge of a grin on her face.

"Hi, Love, you're home," Ron said as he came to greet her from the kitchen.

She then remembered he had not bothered wishing her a happy birthday that morning as he had kissed her good bye. Did he even remember it was her birthday?

He bent toward her to kiss her and she slightly turned her head so the kiss was only perfunctory. Ron understood at once. He hadn't wished her a happy birthday yet because he wanted to surprise her but he realised she was getting into a right mood, probably spoiling for a row... and he had other plans for them for that evening.

"Oi, lunatic wife of mine, can you give me a proper kiss?" he started. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, that didn't come out properly," he corrected himself promptly.

Hermione glared at him. She was in a poor mood and he was not helping at the moment.

"All right, Love. Let's try this again. Happy birthday and ... look."

He took her hand and dragged her in the kitchen where he had set up the table for a romantic dinner, with wine and something delicious looking and smelling.

"Yes, before you ask, Mum sent the food along with her love and happy birthday wishes as well. And look, I have something for you."

She felt her anger and bad mood dissipate and her heart slowly melt. She took the envelope he was holding out to her. She recognised the Hogwarts envelope and Rose's neat script. She opened and saw a card from both Rose and Hugo and a photo of her two children in their Gryffindor robes, grinning giddily and singing happy birthday for their mother.

"We had planned that before they left for Hogwarts, the kids and I did. Rose owled it to me this morning. I thought you would like the photo for your birthday."

Her eyes were now swimming with tears. That was the sweetest and best birthday present she could have asked for. She let the tears fall and engulfed Ron in a tight hug.

"So, does it mean I can have a real kiss now?" he cheeked.

She let a watery laugh and kissed him full on the mouth, almost making him trip.

"I miss them too," he told her seriously when they broke apart for air.

He then added:

"See, Love, there are plenty of things we can do now that they are at Hogwarts. We can have romantic dinners (as long as Mum cooks), or just have bacon sandwiches and chocolate frogs for breakfast. We can shag in the kitchen, or the living room, or just walk around the house starkers. See, plenty of good sides."

"I don't think bacon sandwiches and chocolate frogs make a good breakfast," she told him in a somewhat scolding tone.

She then gave him a very naughty smile and added:

"But I like your other ideas. How shall we celebrate my birthday tonight? Kitchen? Living room? Both?"

As she saw Ron's face slowly split in an approving grin, she thought she would have a very nice birthday after all.

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><p><em><strong>AN**_

_The Snape/Lily scene was something that popped randomly in my head as I was reading something about the friendship that had existed between the two of them. It somehow seemed to fit with what we saw of their relationship before they went to Hogwarts. As for Aunt Muriel being drugged into a sleeping coma by Ginny, I couldn't help myself. Sure, Fred and George sound more like the kind who would do this but Ginny has that streak in her too and Aunt Muriel does sound like a right piece of work in the books. As for Ron and Hermione, it just sounded like Ron to see the silver lining in having both kids at school._

_Please leave me a review to let me know what you think. I need to think of the next theme now (debating between mother and chocolate...)_


	27. Chocolate

**A/N**_ So I asked last chapter what theme I should have for this one. I proposed Mothers or Chocolate and guess what? Chocolate is the winner. Of course, I couldn't do a Chocolate-themed chapter without a lot of Ron so he is a central character in all three snippets, even if not present in all three. Actually, all three stories are related and revolve around the same picture. They show three different points in Ron and Hermione's relationship. (I did mention there would be a lot of these two in this story.)_

_As always, I want to send a big thank you to everyone who reads this story and a special thank you to those of you who take the time to leave a review. These reviews are like sunshine on a cloudy day and always put a smile on my face._

_Disclaimer: unfortunately, none of this is mine._

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><p><strong>Chocolate<strong>

Ron made sure nobody was looking and slid down to the floor of the old sitting room. He was exhausted, having cleaned his fair share of the ancient house, and without magic. He was knackered and filthy. He really longed for a shower. But he could take a break for a few minutes before heading for the bathroom or before his mum found him and tasked him with yet another grimy job.

He suddenly remembered the chocolate frogs he had slipped in his trousers pocket that morning. He was never too tired or grimy for a piece of chocolate. He swiftly unwrapped the sweet, quickly ignored the card when he saw it was yet another one of Circe, and just jammed the whole frog in his mouth with his eyes closed in anticipation.

Before he had time to taste the delicious chocolate, he heard a familiar bossy voice.

"This is where you're hiding. And, honestly, could you at least make two bites of that frog?"

His mouth was full of chocolate and he took his time to savour every bit of the treat before he could speak. But he still glared at Hermione, working on a good retort.

To his surprise, she slid down and sat next to him.

"I am exhausted. Sirius should have warned us the house was so filthy. Maybe I can steal a break here with you before your mum comes and asks us to clean more drapery."

She was talking non-stop. He actually wasn't listening to her anymore. His attention had drifted on the perfect, smooth taste of the chocolate in his mouth.

"What is it that is so wonderful about chocolate frogs?" she asked him suddenly. "Is it the card?"

He swallowed the last bit of chocolate and finally replied:

"I reckon the card is part of it but really, this is some of the best chocolate I've tasted. Haven't you had one?"

"Actually, no," she admitted as she turned slightly pink.

"You've never eaten a chocolate frog? What the hell is wrong with you," he asked her incredulously.

She glowered at him and he had the decency to lower his eyes and blush slightly.

"My parents don't like for me to eat sweets. Dentists, remember? So I've always stayed clear of the chocolate frogs," she replied rather crossly.

"Right. Dentists," he mumbled.

An impish grin then lit his face up as he remembered the second frog still in his pocket. He took it out and offered it to her:

"Harry and I have spent the last four years having a bad influence on you. Why stop now? There you are: your own chocolate frog. Try it, go on," he invited her.

She looked at the wrapped sweet with obvious distaste.

"Where has this thing been?"

"In my pocket," he admitted. "Don't worry, it's well sealed. I just had one and they are fine."

"Of course, coming from the person who will eat anything so long as it is covered in chocolate," she replied sarcastically.

He just rolled his eyes and pushed the frog into her hands and was slightly surprised when she took it.

"It's only chocolate after all, isn't it?" She said as if trying to convince herself.

He watched her as she daintily unwrapped the treat. She took a look at the card and then decapitated the frog.

As the smooth and rich chocolate hit her tongue, she let out a deep sigh. Ron was right. It was very good. She took another bite and closed her eyes, appreciating every bit of the chocolate. Ron was watching her, somewhat mesmerised. Images started forming in his brain, of Hermione sighing in pleasure with her eyes closed. And for some reason, in these images, she wasn't even eating chocolate. And she wasn't wearing any clothes either.

Hermione took another bite, completely oblivious to the red colour that had crept on Ron's ears and cheeks. Ron had to look away and made a mental list of things that would take his mind away from Hermione eating chocolate. Snape. Good one. "Think of Snape," he kept repeating to himself. It worked because when Hermione finally opened her eyes after having taken a torturous time to eat and savour the sweet, Ron was grinning at her unabashedly.

"I reckon you like chocolate frogs."

"Maybe I do," she answered him in a prim voice.

She took the card and looked at an old wizard, looking quite cross.

"Look, Agrippa. Isn't this the card you've been looking for the last four years?"

"What? You have bloody Agrippa?"

"Yes. Do you want it? I don't collect them like you do. And aren't you getting a bit too old to collect chocolate frog cards?"

"Never too old," he smiled back at her even if he hadn't looked at his card collection in over two years.

She handed him the card and suddenly said:

"Oh, sorry. I have dog-eared the corner."

"It's okay, Hermione. Really, it's not like it's _Hogwarts, a History_ or something like that. Anyway, thank you for the card."

He pocketed the picture, intending to keep it as a little memento of his corrupting Hermione with a chocolate frog. He stood up and told her:

"We should move before Mum finds us and makes us fight an army of bloody spiders or other mental things. Without magic," he added for emphasis.

She laughed and took the hand he offered to help her stand up. He quickly released her hand and she looked at him straight in the eye for a mere moment, just enough for him to realise how much he liked the chocolate colour of her eyes.

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><p>Hermione had to do it. It had been a week since that horrible evening when he left, abandoning her, deserting her really. And neither she nor Harry had dared touch the bunk bed where he had slept.<p>

Well, she had cried enough. She had to toughen up. She had a mission: help Harry find the Horcruxes. She had foolishly thought Ron would be with them but the truth was perfectly simple, wasn't it? He didn't want to be with her. She had believed he had reciprocated her feelings but they had really been unrequited.

With a little bit more force than was necessary, she stripped the blanket from the bed. She then attacked the pillow. As she lifted it, she noticed the picture lying under it and realised swiftly it was one from a chocolate frog. She didn't know why but she laughed mirthlessly. Ron must have had one last chocolate frog stashed somewhere and had eaten it, most likely in bed like the glutton he was. For a mere second, she smiled fondly at Ron's love of chocolate frogs, as it was one of the little things she had found endearing about him.

Then she picked up the photo and had a jolt as she recognised it. It was her card, the one she had found more than two years before when he had made her taste her first chocolate frog at Grimmauld Place. She recognised it easily because it was the very rare Agrippa and also the corner was still dog-eared. Why had he kept it under his pillow? And why had he left it behind. Well, she knew the answer to that, she thought bitterly as she felt her heart break again. He didn't want her. He didn't love her. Yet, she couldn't force herself to throw the picture away. Instead, she stuffed it in that secret part of her beaded bag. Maybe, just maybe, she could keep the picture as a memento of a sweet interlude they had shared as friends.

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><p>Hermione had to walk quite a bit to reach that part of the orchard. Molly had been right: it was well hidden and rather private. She could understand why one would come there to have some private time, away from the boisterous family at the Burrow. Except that the family that had become a second one for her was rather subdue these days, Hermione thought with a pang.<p>

She saw Ron sitting quietly under an apple tree. He had been moody all day. While they had gone through a lot in the three months since she had kissed him in the middle of the Battle, tomorrow would be another test for their budding relationship as a couple. She was returning to Hogwarts to finish the seventh year she had put on hiatus and he was not. They would be apart for the first time since, well since that morning where he had reappeared, holding the sword of Gryffindor in one hand and a destroyed locket in another.

She took a good look at him, as she had been bidden to memorize every square inch of him. He was still Ron, her Ron, she thought tenderly. The hair was still red, the skin still freckly, the eyes still blue, and the body still long and lanky. He still could equally make her laugh or infuriate her effortlessly. And yet, he was so different from who he had been a year ago. She was too, she thought with a sigh.

She was not surprised to see he was eating a chocolate frog. It was another thing that hadn't changed. She had noticed a long time ago that he seemed to eat even more of those when he was nervous or anxious. She smiled, knowing the little gift she had for him would definitely be welcome.

"Ron," she called him softly.

He almost jumped at hearing her voice.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, you scared me. How did you find me?"

"Your mum. She told me where to find you."

He smiled briefly at that.

"And I thought all these years this was my secret place. Is there anything the woman won't find out?" he said shaking his head. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be packing?"

There was an edge to his statement.

"I have finished packing," she stated simply. "And I am not here for a row. I have something for you."

"What?" he asked shortly but she could hear the edge had disappeared from his voice.

"This."

She held him a chocolate frog.

"Erm, cheers, but I already had a few," he told her sheepishly showing her the evidence.

"Since when is there a limit on how many chocolate frogs you can eat?" she answered teasingly.

"Right," was his terse reply. She had a fairly good point.

He took the frog from her and opened the box to look at the card. He almost dropped it as he recognised the picture of the old wizard looking quite cross.

"Agrippa, he murmured as he took the card. He examined it and saw the dog-eared corner. "Hermione, how..."

"How did I find this card? Well, I remember a certain boy tried to corrupt me with a chocolate frog...

He grinned fondly at the memory.

"How did you find it back?" he asked her, serious again. "I lost it while we were on the run."

"When you..." she hesitated and saw he knew what she was talking about when he lowered his eyes, still full of remorse. "I found it under your pillow and I ... I kept it." She took a deep breath. "Why did you keep it?"

"It reminded me of you," he finally admitted. "How happy you had been, how much you had enjoyed that chocolate frog I had given you. Just a nice memory. And you, why did you keep it?"

"For the same reason," she told him as she put her hand on his. "That's why I am giving it back to you. You'll have something to remember me by until we can see each other again."

"I have plenty of other memories to remember you by," he told her somewhat cheekily while wriggling his eyebrows at her.

"Stop it," she grinned at him and saw he was reciprocating. She enjoyed seeing the familiar lopsided grin on his face again.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Can you please eat this chocolate frog?"

"Ron Weasley passing on a chocolate frog? What has this world come to?" she joked as she took the frog from the open wrapper and brought it to her mouth.

His request wasn't selfless. He had seen Hermione lose herself in a book. He had seen her enrapt in pleasure while in his arms. But there was and would always be a special place in his heart for Hermione thoroughly enjoying a chocolate frog.

As she had three years before, she started by decapitating the frog and closed her eyes in contentment as the chocolate melted in her mouth. She let out a little appreciative "mmm" before taking another bite slowly, never opening her eyes. She took bites in an excruciating and deliberate pace, all the while voicing her enjoyment of the sweet through little moans. She swallowed the last bite and proceeded to lick each of her fingers, one by one, before re-opening her eyes. She saw Ron looking at her, completely transfixed.

"Enjoyed the show, didn't you?" she asked him.

"Very much indeed," he replied without leaving her eyes. "I reckon you like chocolate frogs as much as I do."

They laughed together and he gently wrapped his arm around her while she let her head drop on the crook of his neck. And as he put the picture of Agrippa back in his trousers pocket, like he had before, Ron knew they would muster through the upcoming time apart.

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><p><em><strong>AN: **__Amusing thing about myself: I must admit I have a few things in common in Ron. No I don't swear like a sailor and I don't have red hair or freckles. But I am terrified of spiders and I am a complete chocoholic. Chocolate is a food group of its own in my world and one would easily believe I am getting attacked by Dementors on a daily basis given the quantity I eat._

_The idea for the card came as I was browsing through the first HP. When Harry meets Ron in the train, Ron tells him about chocolate frogs and his collection of cards. And he is missing Agrippa and Ptolemy. I figured they must be rare cards so it would be fitting for Hermione to find one of them. The fact that Ron would keep it as a memento is something I picked from my personal story. I have kept a love note written on a torn piece of paper that my loved one gave me over 10 years ago..._

_Finally, shameless plug-in here but if you enjoy Ron, Hermione, and chocolate, please check the second chapter of my story "Senses": (.net/s/6739085/2/). It's rated M for a good reason._

_Anyway, enough about me. I hope you enjoyed. If so please leave me a review. I am planning to do mothers for the next chapter._


	28. Mothers

**A/N**_ I know, this is a bit late of an update. First, I have been working on another little one-shot story and second I really struggled with the theme of this chapter: __**mothers**__. There are so many great examples of mothers and their selfless acts in Harry Potter that it was a very difficult choice. Some people may not agree with my story choices for a chapter on mothers since it has neither Lily Potter nor Molly Weasley (who, coincidentally, is probably my favourite mother figure in Harry Potter). Anyway, I came with my little stories and I hope you enjoy my take on the theme. If you do, you know the drill: push the little link at the bottom and leave a review. And if you don't, please don't be shy and let me know.  
><em>

_While it is not necessary to have read the other chapters to read this one, there is a reference to earlier chapters in the last two stories (the second one refers to an incident also mentioned in chapter 12, What Could Have Been and the last one briefly mentions the same infamous picture as in chapter 3, Tabloid)._

_I always have a thank you note in my author's note to all the readers of this story and there is no exception here. A big thank you to all of you! But I want to address a special thank you to all who leave thoughtful reviews and some possible ideas for future chapters. You are wonderful._

_Disclaimer: despite what happens in my wildest dreams, I don't own Harry Potter._

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><p><strong>Mothers<strong>

Neville realised he had spent more time at St. Mungo's in the month since the end of the war than he had in the previous two years. And it did take a toll. He did the same he always did when he came back from St. Mungo's. He took the sweet wrapper his mother had given him and added it to an impressive pile he kept in a drawer of his bedside table, next to his mother's picture. It was one from when she had been only seventeen. She hadn't changed much in almost twenty years. She still had her round face and youthful air, the one he had himself inherited. But he noticed that the sharpness and cleverness that were blatant in her eyes at seventeen had disappeared now. In their stead was a vacant look and sometimes, as when she was handing him sweet wrappers, there was a little something that might have resembled love.

As he started dwelling on how much he would have liked having her as her former self, raising him, he heard a gentle knock on the door of his room. He expected his Gran but was surprised to see Luna. He was not used yet to having her around his house, even if it was his idea, having the Lovegoods stay with them while they could fully repair their house. Gran definitely had a house big enough. That allowed Neville to have a friend at home –was Luna just a friend?–, even if having Xenophilius Lovegood as a houseguest regularly drove Gran mad. In all cases, it definitely made for interesting dinner conversations, Neville thought with a smile.

"Luna, come in," he invited her with a smile and a gesture from his hand before he realised it was the first time he had ever invited a girl in his room. It was Luna, one of his best friends, he reasoned.

"Were you looking at a picture?" she asked in that dreamy voice of hers.

"Yes, my mum," he told her as he showed her the photo. "I just went to see her and Dad at St. Mungo's today."

"Oh, you do look like her," Luna noticed as she took a look at the picture. "How is she?"

"Same as always," Neville admitted darkly. "She gave me a wrapper and smiled at me."

"I am sorry, Neville," Luna told him as she seized his hand gently. It felt nice to have her hand on his. Her hand was soft and warm at the same time. "But see the bright side, she is alive, and I am sure, somewhere inside of her, she knows who you are and she still loves you."

He looked at Luna and didn't try to hide the tears that were coming down.

"Thank you, Luna. I forget sometimes that you don't have your mum anymore."

That was another thing they had in common: they had both, in a way, lost their mother.

"No, Mum is with me," she said serenely. "She's always with me, here," she continued as she took his hand and placed it against her heart.

She was warm and soft there too, Neville thought as he suddenly felt heat on his face. But he knew she meant this as a comforting gesture. It was her way to show him she cared about him.

"And I think Mum would have liked you," she pronounced with certainty. "You are a good friend."

And at this, she released his hand but Neville felt better than he had all day. In her odd way, Luna always knew how to make him feel better.

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><p>Ron took the letter from Pig and smiled as he opened it and saw the photograph. Of course, he had seen little James a few days before when he had been born but the picture of him and Ginny together made him smile. His little sister looked so happy on the picture.<p>

"What is it?" he heard Hermione ask him with curiosity.

"Oh, Harry and Ginny sent these pictures of our godson. Look at him," he told her as he sat next to her on the sofa and gave her the picture. "He's a big boy, isn't he?"

"Quite big," Hermione agreed as she looked at Ginny and James, happy to see both of them. She was elated for Ginny and Harry, even more so as they had made James her godson. But as she looked at the simply happy face of Ginny, she couldn't help the little longing that stirred in her.

Seemingly unaware of it, Ron kept talking animatedly:

"And look at Ginny. She looks like she's over the moon. I am sure she'll be a great mum. Probably will give Mum a run for her money," he continued with genuine affection in his voice. "I can't believe my little sister has had a baby. The little brat with missing teeth and pig tails is a mother. That's incredible. She's beat me at that too."

The second the words came out of his mouth, he wanted to swallow them back, especially as he saw how Hermione's face had fallen all at once.

"She'll be a great mother. There's no doubt. Harry and she are going to be wonderful parents," she said with a hitch in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Love," he said sincerely as he mentally cursed himself for having let slip the words that put the look of misery on her face. "Our turn will come," he said reassuringly.

"Our turn came... and went," she said in barely a whisper.

Here she was again. He thought she had moved on but every now and then, the happy news of one of his siblings or one of their friends expecting or having a baby would bring all the pain back. The thing she didn't know was that it was painful for him too. He had wanted the baby as much as she had and had been devastated just as much as her when she had miscarried. Yet, he had also been relieved that Hermione had recovered, at least physically, and that the healer had encouraged them to try again.

"Hermione," he started gently while taking her small hands in his. "You heard the healer. There is nothing wrong with either one of us. It was just a..." he searched for words "a tragic loss but it does happen and the healer told us to keep trying and we should have no trouble next time. And trust me, I am all for the trying part," he added as an attempt at humour.

She didn't smile.

"Come on, Love, we will have our turn," he repeated with conviction.

She turned her head to look at him and he saw the unshed tears that clung to her long brown lashes.

"You don't understand, do you?" she told him fiercely.

"What, Hermione? What is it I don't fucking understand?" he replied with the same tone.

She knew he hated when she told him he didn't understand something. It somehow made all his old insecurities rise to the surface.

"Don't swear. You don't understand because... because you can't. You are a man."

"Well spotted, Hermione. I'm afraid there's nothing I can bloody change about that," he said sardonically. "What can't I understand?" he pushed.

"I had a little life growing in me and... and I ... I failed," she finally admitted. "I failed you..."

"Bollocks!" he said angrily.

"I failed you and I failed as a mother. How can I aspire to be a mother when I can't even carry a pregnancy to term?"

"What? That's completely mental, Hermione. Completely fucking mental."

"Is it, now?" she asked in that lofty voice of hers she used for sarcasm.

And then Ron understood and all anger left his body at once. He wasn't a woman, but he could understand because he knew Hermione. Failure was never an option for her and she saw what happened as her failure.

"Yes, that's complete rubbish," he started much more calmly. "Let's be clear about something: you didn't fail. The healer told you. These things happen and there's no reason to blame you for any of it. And you certainly didn't fail me. You could never fail me. Hermione, I want children but I want you more. Having you is more important to me than anything in this world," he finally told her.

He saw the gratitude in her eyes for his words. He went on:

"Hermione, I know it will happen. We just need to take it one day at the time and not think of it too hard. And even if it doesn't, there are other options. Maybe one of my prolific siblings will give us one of theirs," he joked.

He saw her snort through the tears.

"Seriously, you will see. It will happen and you'll be a wonderful mother, Hermione. You have heart, compassion, and more than enough love for all the little Weasleys we will have. Any child would be proud of having you as their mother. And I hope they all get your fantastic brain and hair," he said lovingly as he kissed the top of her head.

He gathered her in his arms and heard her sniffle loudly but saw the edge of a smile form on her lips.

"Why would you want to curse a child of ours with my hair?" she finally asked him.

"Because it is bloody brilliant," he said appreciatively. "Just like you."

* * *

><p>Rose sat at the table groggily. She didn't care much for morning, especially when it was only seven bloody o'clock and she had stayed up until two to work on a Charms essay. Of course, she could have started on the Charms essay earlier if she hadn't been spending some choice quality time with Scorpius until nearly midnight. That thought made her smile and blush just a little.<p>

She was quickly brought back to reality when she saw Hugo sit across from her. She loved her little brother. Yes, he could be a sodding pain in the rear at times but he was a decent brother over all, especially since he had started going out with the sweet Violet. Hugo seemed to have forgotten he had previously made it a goal in life to tease his sister about her hair and her boyfriend. But today, Hugo looked serious, and a little bit... proud? What had the little bugger done, she wondered.

"Mum is on the front page of the newspaper," he told her as a greeting.

"The newspaper? Is Dad with her? On the newspaper, I mean?"

"Yes, but it's not like last time."

"Merlin, don't remind me of that picture," she said under her breath remembering how a picture of her parents snogging like two randy teenagers in heat had made the front page of some rag and how the photo had spread through Hogwarts faster than a Firebolt.

Hugo gave her his copy of the Daily Prophet. And here was her Mum, standing tall (and she wasn't that tall in reality) and shaking hands with the Minister of Magic (or Kingsley, as he was known around the Weasley household). Her bushy hair had been somewhat tamed in a wild bun at the nape of her neck but tendrils still escaped everywhere to frame the classically elegant face. Rose looked at the intelligent brown eyes. They were sparkling and full of cleverness, even in the picture, and they would furtively look for a set of blue eyes, just a few feet away. Rose saw her Dad, always easy to find in group pictures thanks to his red hair and height. He was looking back at her Mum, clapping enthusiastically, love and pride were blatant over his face.

Hugo was right, it definitely wasn't like last time.

"Mum sent us an owl yesterday evening to tell us about this but somehow I couldn't find you," Hugo said with certain humour. "It seemed you had vanished. Or maybe you were touring unknown parts of the castle with a fellow prefect, namely one with blond hair and a pointy chin."

"Hugo, can you please shut it?" she asked him without heat and she saw her brother grin from ear to ear knowing he was right about her whereabouts of the previous evening. "I am reading."

The title said: _Hermione Weasley Named head of department of magical law enforcement_. The article recited all the impressive achievements her Mum had reached in her extraordinary career but it also mentioned her role in the war and the defeat of Voldemort. All the good she had done. And while Rose was incredibly proud, she could only think of the loving woman who had passed her a passion for books and a thirst for learning; the one who had read numerous stories to her and healed scrapes and bruises effortlessly; the woman who had held her when she cried after she broke up with her first boyfriend; the woman she called "Mum". Because before she was an extraordinary with and all around person, Hermione Weasley was above all an extraordinary mother.

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><p><em><strong>AN: **Phew, that was a hard one for me to write. _

_For Neville/Luna: first, I think in the movie, Sirius mentions that Neville's parents' fate is worth than death. Not sure whether it is in the book and where it is but I would agree with this statement. Neville is probably as much an orphan as Harry. Second, if you've read my profile, you will know I have a something for Luna/Neville stories but I wanted to show above all that these two beautifully misfit and excellent characters are true friends._

_For Ron/Hermione: once again, my version of things. I can see how miscarrying feels like a failure and how it would hurt each time you see someone else have a baby. It'd be a constant reminder of what you didn't get. I hope it didn't come too heavy-handed._

_As for the last story, while I see my version of Rose as definitely being more like Ron, I also see her as being her mother's daughter and as having a great relationship with Hermione (probably because Rose is more like Ron, does that make sense?)_

_Anyway, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think. I will try to have next chapter in the next ten days as soon as I find a theme (thank you for all the excellent suggestions)._


	29. Secrets

**A/N**_ I know, it's been a while. Sometimes, inspiration seems to take a break or it goes in other directions. So I wrote another story as an outlet for the M-rated plot that kept forming in my head but wouldn't fit the Pictures' format and rating. Once this was out of the way, what do you know? Inspiration struck again for Pictures. so here I am back with another chapter. _

_The theme for this chapter is **Secrets**, something that seems to abound in the Harry Potter books (and gave us some of the best parts of the overall plot: Snape, anyone?) Sadly, no Snape in this chapter (I debated about it) but instead a new-comer to my story, albeit a famous one: Albus Dumbledore. I hope I did justice to the intricate and complex character that Rowling created.  
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_On another note, I am thrilled beyond measure that this little collection of mine is getting so many readers who alert, add to their favorites and/or leave reviews. A heart-felt thank you also to everyone who makes suggestions for future themes. I am always amazed at how creative some of those suggestions are. All those things are many more reasons to get inspired to write a lot more chapters._

_I hope you enjoy this chapter. Reviews are a perfect way to let me know if you did (or didn't).  
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_Disclaimer: do I need to say it again?  
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><p><strong>Secrets<strong>

Even if it was only Ginny and Ron still living there these days, the Burrow did look empty without her children around, Molly thought with a sigh. No matter, she resolved herself, it was the best time to go around their rooms and restore them to a semblance of order. Ginny's room had mostly been in order, it always was. Ron's bedroom, on the other hand, was a very different story. It didn't matter that her youngest son would be of age in a few months, the boy still sorely lacked any inclination to tidy up the unbelievable mess that was his room.

Molly looked at the orange walls with a pang. The colour reminded her so much of her baby boy, even if she thought maroon was much more suitable for him. She waved her wand and wrappers from various sweets that had been strewn around the room flew in a rubbish bin. Another flick and the dresser, wardrobe and desk were dusted. There were no clothes left: he didn't have that many and had taken all of them with him to Hogwarts. Molly was thankful for the house elves over there that would ensure Ron's clothes were properly laundered.

She finally aimed at the bed to strip the orange sheets and duvet. As she did so, she saw something fall to the ground. Intrigued, she picked it up and recognised a piece of a photograph that had been carelessly torn apart from its main part. She was amused to see Harry smile back at her. Where was the rest of the photo? She remembered taking it a few days before. She was positive Ron and Hermione had been on the photo as well. Molly remembered how she had muttered to herself that they looked like a nice couple and how Ron's ears had suddenly turned a violent shade of red. Molly had an inkling that her son had kept the part with just him and Hermione and it made her chuckle tenderly. Ron thought his feelings for Hermione were a secret? They certainly weren't to his mother, nor probably to anyone with eyes or ears.

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><p>Another offer. As he did the two previous times such an offer had been made, Albus Dumbledore retrieved the photograph he kept in his desk. It was his reminder why he should reject the offer. He looked at the picture. Here were the Dumbledores: his father, dead in Azkaban; his mother, killed accidentally; Aberforth, the much better son and brother in his not-so-humble opinion; himself; and Ariana, sweet Ariana.<p>

People really wanted him to be Minister of Magic. That was such a foolish idea. Albus Dumbledore should not and would not become Minister of Magic. Of course, he was superbly qualified for the position, being, in his own opinion and that of many others, the cleverest and most talented wizard alive. But there was too much room for abuse of the power that came with this job.

He had shown why power wasn't a good idea in the hands of someone who liked it. Yes, he had defeated Grindelwald. Gellert Grindelwald who had once been his best friend, and might have been even more. The betrayal had hurt, but no more than the price he paid. He traced Ariana's face with his fingers. Gone, she was forever gone except in his nightmares. The little sister whom he had loved but not protected. And he had to live with the weight of the terrible secret surrounding her death: that he might be the one who had cast the spell that tragically ended her life.

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><p>Ginny closed the curtains of her four-poster bed. She had never been more distraught in her eleven years of life. She looked at the photo that sat on her bedside table, looking longingly at her family. She wished she could confide in one of them. She couldn't tell her parents. Mum was already angry because of what happened with Ron, Harry, and Dad's enchanted car. She didn't need additional worry. Bill and Charlie were too far away. Percy seemed concerned, but mostly because Ron had been found at the scene where the petrified body of Mrs. Norris had been recovered and that might jeopardise Percy's chances of becoming a bloody Head Boy. What would Percy think if he knew of his sister's little secret? Ron's situation paled in comparison.<p>

There were Fred and George. They wouldn't take her seriously. They always tried to make her laugh, thinking she had been upset because she liked cats and because she was friendly with Colin. But her heart wasn't set on laughing. That left Ron. Ron who was only a year older than her and seemed to be joined at the hip with Harry. No, not a good solution either. She just couldn't tell any member of her family the secret that was burdening her. Yet, she was going mad, not remembering what she had been doing on Halloween night or when Colin had been petrified. She was worried she had something to do with both incidents.

As she sighed dejectedly, an idea came to her. There was another option, wasn't there? Tom always seemed to understand her problems so well. She had shared so many secrets with him already and he always knew what to say to comfort her. Yes, it was perfectly simple. She retrieved the leather-bound diary from the drawer it was in. She took quill and ink and started: "Dear Tom, I know it may sound barmy, but I think I am going mad."

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><p><strong>AN** _Thank you for reading. I hope I captured Dumbledore, who is such a complex character with his own flaws. I based that snippet on both the scene with Aberforth in Hogsmeade iand the conversation between Harry and Dumbledore at King's Cross in Deathly Hallows. I also had to get my copy of Chamber of Secrets out to write the last one. As for the first snippet, I can't think Molly would be oblivious to Ron's feelings for Hermione (she is his mother after all)._

_Also, as I mentioned above, I wrote another story. If you are interested, (Ron/Hermione little love piece involving rain, an apple tree, and some hot moments; rated M for a good reason), check "Elements" under my profile._

_Thank you for reading!  
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	30. Firewhiskey

**A/N**_ A new update and it is a bit late as I had some personal issues (I sadly had to put my old dog to sleep) that kept me away from writing. The good news: these are longer stories._

_The theme for this chapter was mentioned by two reviewers (__**hermywazlib**__ and __**Piby Weasley**__) who suggested both alcohol and Firewhiskey as potential themes. So, here you are: a chapter about **Firewhiskey**. The difficult part was including the picture element in each story. Thank you to both of you for the prompt and thank you to all who read, alert, review or add this story to their favourite list. You do bring plenty of big smiles on my face._

_As I have in the past, I am mixing emotions here although all three snippets have a fairly happy ending. I also want to add my Public Service Announcement here about drinking: I don't condone excessive drinking in any way but a) after you live a certain time on this Earth, chances are you will get drunk at least once in your life, and b) it makes for good writing material when it is fictional._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy. If you do (or if you don't), please leave me a review._

_Disclaimer: nope, still not mine._

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><p><strong>Firewhiskey<strong>

As her brain slowly told her she was awake, Hermione tried to open her eyes. The effort was excruciating, as if both her eyelids had been taped shut. As she finally succeeded, it took a few seconds for the scene around her to come into focus and she felt for a second as if she were impersonating Harry again, bad eye-sight and splitting headache included. She lifted her head slowly, feeling as if there was an over-enthusiastic Quidditch game being played in it. And why did her mouth feel like a small animal had died in it?

She put her amazing brain to work quickly. She was back in her bedroom, in the flat she shared with Ron, who, incidentally, was not lying next to her. It was a rare day when Ron woke up before she did. She tried to think further of what she had done and the fog started slowly dissipating. Evening out last night, with old Gryffindor friends, at the Leaky Cauldron.

Before she had time to delve further, she saw Ron enter, holding a tray with something on it.

"G'morning, Love. Actually, good afternoon."

She winced as the voice she was usually very fond of was sounding very shrill all of a sudden. It wasn't lost on Ron, who came to sit on the bed next to her, leaving the tray on his bedside table. Even in her befuddled state, she could see it was costing him not to smile openly at the frightful sight she must have been.

"Wha...," she croaked before clearing her throat. "What happened?"

"You, my love, have a bleeding hangover," he told her smugly before handing her a cup full of a foul-smelling brew.

Hermione glowered at him before taking the cup he was holding out to her. As she brought the cup to her mouth, her stomach revolted at the smell.

"Just breathe through your mouth and drink it in one shot. You were quite good with that one shot thing yesterday," he added playfully.

She threw him another scathing look. Ron could barely suppress the smile that wanted to bloom on his face. Hermione was in a foul mood.

She pinched her nose and was about to down the drink when she asked him suspiciously:

"Where did you learn to brew a sobriety potion?"

"You can't grow up with five older brothers without knowing how to brew this in your sleep," he explained.

"Hum," was her only response as she took a big breath and just swallowed the remedy with obvious distaste.

"This is vile," she finally said as she forced the last swallow down.

"Well, I reckon if it tasted good, people wouldn't even think about getting pissed, now would they?"

She felt some of the fog dissipate in her brain and her headache ebb out. Whatever the taste, it seemed Ron had made her a potent sobriety potion and part of her was thankful for it. As her brain cleared, glimpses of the previous evening came back in sharper focus. They had been out celebrating Seamus's birthday, his twenty-second. It had been like being back at Hogwarts. She had been happy to see many of her old friends: Seamus, Dean, Neville, Luna, Parvati, Ernie, Hannah, and even Lavender had made a rare appearance as she mostly kept to herself these days.

They had started with some lighter drinks and then had moved on to Firewhiskey. She had made a remark about excessive drinking and Seamus had told her she just needed to loosen up. She remembered how Seamus had taunted her, telling her she couldn't drink. Of course, there was never a challenge Hermione Granger would pass. Seamus had egged her on, in his own charming way, and had laughed heartily as she had sputtered the first mouthful she had taken. Stung, she had taken another sip, ignoring Ron's warning whispers not to get into a drinking contest with Seamus. And she had kept going as each sip was easier to swallow than the previous one. And then, she could only remember glimpses of her, Ron, and the back corner by the loo at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Ron, what happened? I can't remember much after I drank a few shots."

"Maybe this will help," he told her as he gave her a photograph.

She looked at it and recognised herself and Ron. She had her left leg hiked up high and twisted around his hip. Her right hand was possessively fondling his arse through his jeans while her left one held the back of Ron's neck, forcing his head down toward hers so she could jam her tongue in his mouth. Ron just seemed taken aback on the photo but didn't seem to offer much resistance. She realised it was a dark corner of the pub, leading to the loo but definitely a public place with a lot of traffic. Her brain started going further and she wondered who had taken the picture and prayed against all common sense it was Ron.

"Who took the picture?" she asked, wincing.

"Why, birthday man himself," Ron replied cheerfully.

"Seamus? Oh no," she yelped as she raked her hands over her mortified face.

"Don't worry..."

"Why shouldn't I worry? Seamus Finnigan took a picture of me literally trying to... to shag you in the back corner of the Leaky Cauldron."

He raised an eyebrow appreciatively at hearing her using the word "shag".

"Well, you do seem to lose quite a few inhibitions along with your sobriety," he started but was interrupted again.

"Never mind that! This is going to be everywhere. And if your Mum sees it," she lamented not thinking she would ever be able to look Molly in the eye if that were the case.

"As I say, don't worry. I have taken care of the situation."

"How?" she asked as her brain finally registered what he was saying.

"Seamus was as pissed as you were. I, erm, Obliviated him."

"You what?"

"Seamus was just laughing a lot. Getting a bit obnoxious actually so I Obliviated him. Don't worry, he still remembers his birthday, just not that he took a picture of us. I have also owled him his camera and photos this morning, telling him he had forgotten them in the loo."

She took this statement in for a minute, weighing what Ron had done to one of their friends. It was, however an extreme case and extreme cases called for extreme measures, she reasoned. She was still a bit worried about Seamus.

"Is Seamus all right?"

"Of course, he is, except for, I am sure, a bloody hangover. I am an Auror. I can do memory charms."

"How come you didn't drink?"

"I had one or two shots but I am bigger than you and when I saw the way you were going, I decided one of us had to be sober enough to Apparate back home."

"Why didn't you try harder to stop me? I remember you telling me I had no chance against Seamus."

"I tried but you had that look on your face. The one you have when you feel compelled to do better than the person next to you. The one that says back off. You know, brilliant but scary."

That brought a smile to her face.

"Thank you," she told him before laying a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Can you give me the photo now?" she asked him, eager to vanish it.

"Ha, I knew we would run into this little problem," Ron said while a smug grin split his face.

"What are you going on about?" Hermione asked him, bewildered.

"Well, I am keeping the photo. No worries there, I have charmed it so that we are the only two who can see it, but I am keeping it."

"Ron," she said indignantly.

He was openly grinning at her.

"Yes, love?" He answered nonchalantly.

"Why on earth would you keep such a picture?"

"Because I like it?" he offered. "Besides, I have seen the picture of me you keep in the top drawer of your desk."

He knew he had struck gold when he saw her blush a nice pink. She didn't even question why he had been rummaging through her desk –he had just been looking for parchment.

"That's sorted, then, isn't it?" he said triumphantly.

"I guess it is," she replied coyly, much too coyly for him not to be suspicious.

Ron's suspicions were validated when a slow grin spread on her face and she asked him: "Love? You know I will get this photo back, don't you?"

"Of course, I do. Brightest witch of your age. But the game will be fun, won't it?"

She smiled again and told him sweetly:

"Of course it will be. I'll make sure of it."

And he knew once more why he was so madly in love with her.

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><p>Lavender heard the knock on the door. She wasn't expecting a visitor and used her wand to perform a shield charm before opening the door and seeing Seamus Finnigan standing in front of her. How odd it was that even if they had not seen each other for almost two years, this was their second encounter in three days. And the previous one had not ended well, had it?<p>

"Seamus, what are you doing here?" she asked him curtly.

"Nice to see you too, Lav. I came by to give you something. Can I come in?"

She removed the charm and moved to the side to let him in. He took in the small flat; all decorated in very feminine tones, and felt slightly emasculated in that environment. He then took in Lavender. He saw her fidget with the high collar of her jumper, a jumper that did a wonderful job of both hiding the skin of her neck and displaying her curvaceous body, he thought appreciatively. Her long blond hair was parted asymmetrically; a curtain of silk falling on the right side of her face. Along with expertly applied makeup, her hair hid what he knew to be the remnants of her encounter with Greyback. Seamus had been sorry he hadn't been able to assist Neville and Ron in taking that bastard down. But as Ron had joked, there probably would have been a queue for that.

Seamus had found Lavender pretty when they had been fourteen and they had shared their first kiss. He had found her desirable when he had been a randy sixteen-year-old and she had paraded her exhibitionist and short-lived relationship with Ron Weasley. He had found her beautiful when he had seen her fight alongside a handful of students during their last year at Hogwarts. And when he had seen her two days before, he had found her stunning, and had fucked up royally.

"You're staring, Seamus"

"Can't a bloke look at a beautiful bird?"

He saw her dumbfounded look and then her eyes steeled themselves.

"I am hardly beautiful. Not like before, at least. Why are you here?"

He sighed deeply, obviously disagreeing with her statement.

"I just came by to say thank you for coming to my birthday party and to give you some photos. Ron owled them to me this morning. He said I left the camera in the loo. Frankly, I don't remember going to the loo. I guess I was fecking plastered."

She took the pictures from him. She had had a good time and it showed on the photos he had brought. Here she was, laughing with Parvati or talking with Neville. She had even had a polite conversation about Ginny's sting with the Harpies with Ginny and Hermione, before Hermione had gone on a very un-Hermione drinking contest with Seamus. The memories made her smile. She had secretly been very pleased she had listened to Parvati, who had nearly dragged her up to Seamus's birthday celebration. She had been happy to see Seamus again, still harbouring a unique affection for him. That was at least until he made his unwelcome move.

"It was nice seeing you again," Seamus told her. "And thank you for the Firewhiskey. Good one you gave me," he added. "And I wanted to apologise."

"Why, Seamus?" she asked him, perfectly aware of what he was apologising for.

"I was pissed, completely pissed, Lav. And you are still very attractive."

Still. It was the word that hurt more than anything else as she knew she would never go back to the beautiful girl she had once been.

"What I mean is, it was very wrong of me to..."

"To ask me for a quick shag? Isn't that what you do to most girls these days, Seamus?"

"Fecking hell, Lav. You know it's not what I wanted, not from you. I had too much to drink and it's not as if I'm blind. You're fit and, yes, I'd be lying if I told you that getting into your knickers hasn't crossed my mind hundreds of time since you were fourteen."

"Well, I don't need another reason not to look at myself in a mirror, Seamus."

He looked stung but went back on attack.

"Will you listen to me? I am sorry, all right? I was out of line, and you're right, the fact I had too much Firewhiskey is no excuse for asking that of you. But..."

"But what?"

"Look at yourself on the photos. You were smiling, Lavender. You were happy, enjoying yourself, weren't you?"

"What if I was? You're the one who ruined everything by asking me to follow you to bed. I'm not sixteen anymore, not that daft or easy anymore, Seamus."

"That's not what I meant, Lavender. What I'm getting at is that it was good to see you back. To see you smile. I would... would like it if we could see each other again. And I don't care if we never make it to bed, as it seems I disgust you that much. I only want to see you happy. I've missed you."

He saw her surprised look for a moment before she quietly told him:

"You don't disgust me, Seamus. It's just that things are a bit more complicated than they were when we were fourteen."

"No kidding," he replied humorously.

"I would like to see you again but promise me you won't drink."

"Oi, I was only celebrating my birthday. It's not like I am a drunk."

She laughed at that comment and it was a pretty and feminine laugh.

"I never said you were. You just say and do stupid things when you're drunk."

"And when I'm sober too, sometimes," he added self-deprecatingly.

"Perhaps," she agreed. "I just want to take things very slow. And I gave up on any kind of public display of affection since about the end of our sixth year at Hogwarts," she added dryly.

"Not a problem," he promised her. "We have all our life, don't we?"

* * *

><p>George was in no mood to celebrate his birthday. His mum had been disappointed when he had told her he didn't want any kind of cake or celebration but he knew she was also secretly relieved. It just felt wrong celebrating without Fred. He had been gone for almost a year, three hundred and thirty-four days to be precise. The pain was now a dull ache, more like a chronic headache that you learnt to live and function with. He had reopened the shop and Ron helped him often there when he wasn't in Auror training or doing Merlin knew what with the lovely Miss Granger. George shuddered, not wanting to imagine his little baby brother and his girlfriend.<p>

And Lee and Angelina helped too. After the initial few weeks of isolation George had needed, he had been happy to find his old friends back, waiting for him. As if on cue, he saw his fireplace turn green as two figures emerged from it: Lee and Angelina.

George looked at them, first surprised, and then, he realised, truly happy to see them. Lee enveloped him in a hug before giving him a bottle of Firewhiskey. Angelina came second, giving him a deeper hug and a light peck on the cheek that caused all kinds of sensations to course through him. She smelled good and felt soft and warm against him. Lee's cough brought George back to reality.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked them.

"Why, it's your birthday, isn't it?" Lee said jubilantly. "So, we're here to celebrate."

"Lee, while I appreciate the sentiment, I am not really in a mood to celebrate," George replied."Not... not alone," he added quietly.

Both Lee and Angelina understood his meaning.

"Well, we knew that," Angelina said. "So Lee and I had this brilliant idea," she told him as she took a framed photo from the bag she was carrying. As George was expecting, it was Fred.

"We'll celebrate Fred too," she finished.

She was met with a stony stare.

"Let me get this straight, you want us to drink and tell stories about Fred?" George asked incredulously.

"George, that's the way we've celebrated your birthday for quite a while, isn't it? We get pissed and talk about all the brilliant ideas you have had to make or potentially make someone's existence more, let's see, interesting," Lee said.

George still looked unconvinced, but Angelina noticed that he wasn't frowning anymore. He actually looked as if he was considering the idea.

"Yes, George. I know, Fred is dead. And there's not a bloody thing we can do about this. But we can celebrate all the brilliant things he did while he was alive," she told George softly.

"And drink to it, too," Lee added mischievously.

"So, you want to talk about all the wicked things Fred did and get pissed in the process?" George asked again.

"In a nutshell," Lee agreed. "We thought Fred would like that, you know. We can also talk about how clever you are. And just in case, Angelina brought some sobriety potion."

George was silent for a minute and let the smile he had been fighting blossom on his face.

"Actually, I think that's bloody brilliant," he finally told them as he summoned three shot glasses.

George positioned the framed picture of Fred on the table while Angelina came to sit next to him and Lee sat across from them in a well-worn armchair. George served three glasses of Firewhiskey and started:

"Did I ever tell you how we tested an experimental version of U-No-Poo on Umbridge? After she banned us from Quidditch? Fred thought it was a good idea to get her even more stuck up than she was."

"And how did you manage to see how well it was working?" Angelina asked between two laughs.

"Well, that was the clever part, you see. We didn't care whether the product was working –although we hoped it did as we added a high dose of it in her sugar pot. We just wanted to check the side effects. And she didn't turn any loonier than usual so we thought it was safe. Great idea, Fred," George said as he raised his glass in front of the photo for a toast.

"I'm so glad the hag is in Azkaban," Lee approved. "Maybe we can send her a care package?"

They laughed again and George went on to recounting another of the pranks he had organised with Fred. Lee and Angelina listened and started sharing their own stories, each an opportunity to have a toast to Fred's picture.

They talked until the wee hours of the morning. As the night progressed, the laughs grew louder, the bottle of Firewhiskey got emptier, and Angelina sat closer until George's arm came to rest around her shoulders. And Fred's picture stayed on the table, a witness of this celebration.

When George woke up the next morning, he was sprawled on the sofa and Angelina was lying next to him, her head sitting on his chest. He slowly disengaged from her so as not to wake her up and noticed how he would love to wake up next to her every morning. They had got closer over the last few months and maybe it was time to get even closer, he mused. He then threw one of his mother's hand-knit blankets over her to keep her warm.

He looked around and saw the empty bottle on the table. It had taken them several hours and many Fred stories to slowly drink its content, the alcohol slowly relaxing them and getting their stories progressively livelier. If George said it himself, it had been a fun night. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt that way, like he didn't have an army of Dementors swarming around him. The pain was still there, he knew it would never go away completely. But for the first time in three hundred and thirty-four days, it was not the dominant emotion.

As he saw Lee snoring loudly in the armchair, George couldn't suppress the smile that split his face. He slowly turned to the picture of Fred on the table and spoke merrily:

"Well, that was a fucking brilliant birthday celebration, wasn't it?"

And for the first time in three hundred and thirty-four days, he could bear looking and smiling at the face so much like his.

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><p><strong>AN** _I think drunk Hermione is much more fun than drunk Ron would have been and a drinking contest would fit in her competitive nature although it may be a bit OOC. _

_For Lavender, I don't believe she died (looking at the book here) and I expect the all experience turned her into a more mature person. I also took some liberty with her and Seamus as a couple although there's not much to go on, besides the fact that the two were obviously friends during their years at Hogwarts.  
><em>

_As for George, I wanted to show the acceptance stage of the grief process._

_I hope you enjoyed. If you did (or even if you didn't, don't be shy), please let me know through a review._


	31. Scars

**A/N**_ I know, I know, it is an overdue update but here it is. The theme for this chapter is **Scars** and was suggested by one of my readers: **ModernDayRapunzel**. A big thank you for a great prompt!  
><em>

_So, in this chapter, we have angst, anger, and humor. Oh my! (I do like having a nice mixed bag of emotions.) There were a lot of scars to choose from (and the Ron/Rose/Hugo story mentions a few well-known scars) so I focused on a few choice ones._

_I want to extend a big thank you to everyone who reads, alerts, adds this story to their favorite list, or reviews. And speaking of reviews, they are the only feedback writers on this site get and they are also a real motivator to keep writing. So if you enjoy (or if you don't, constructive criticism is good too), well, you know what to do._

_Finally, I want to let everyone know that I will probably wind this story down soon. I have written over 30 chapters now (that's over 90 snippets) and while I still have a few suggestions for future chapters, I am running out of original ideas to write about. I am not ruling out adding chapters in the future, but probably not at the rate I have published the story so far. I also want to try to focus on a multi-chapter fiction with a single story._

_Disclaimer: as if..._

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><p><strong>Scars<strong>

Remus and Tonks Apparated home with barely a pop. The minute they got in their sitting room, she let go of him and went to grab a photo that sat on a shelf. It was Tonks with Moody. Remus was very aware of the special bond that had united his wife to the retired Auror.

She traced the rough-hewn and heavily scarred face on the photo and finally talked:

"You know, he taught me how to perform seamless Disillusion Charms."

"He was a very talented wizard," Remus replied tersely.

"I can't believe he's dead."

Remus didn't answer. He had seen too many useless deaths of too many good and skilled people, including those of his best friends, to be surprised that someone as accomplished as Mad-Eye could be killed. Nevertheless, he was still in shock himself.

"He can't die, can he? He should just get another scar and be back to help us with the Order. We've already lost Dumbledore, we can't lose him too," she said with a sob.

Remus took her in his arms and just let her give into tears, as he quickly blinked away the moisture that seemed to have suddenly invaded his own eyes. He knew there would be more scars along the way as they battled magic they had never experienced before, and not just the physical ones that Mad-Eye had seemed to collect. He knew they were on the cusp of something more terrible than any of them could imagine, full of evil and dark magic. All they could do was brace themselves and fight.

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><p>"You're sure you'll be all right?" Hermione asked Ron as he kissed her at the door threshold.<p>

"Love, you'll only be gone for a few hours. I fight dark wizards for a living, I think I can handle two kids, even our adorable children," Ron cheeked.

She smiled at him in a way that said "that's what you think" and gave him a light kiss.

"I'll be on my way. Don't let Rose eat too many chocolate frogs. And Hugo really is a menace with that toy broomstick. Love you," she told him before she kissed him a final time and gently closed the door behind her.

Ron turned around to see his six-year-old daughter looking at him, a question ready on her lips.

"Why do you and Mum kiss all the time?"

"'Cause we love each other," Ron replied evenly. He was used to his precocious daughter's insatiable curiosity and was expecting another question when he saw Hugo zooming by.

"Hugo, no, don't try to catch Crookshanks by the tail."

Hugo was flying at dangerous speeds around their sitting room, trying to catch the tail of a frightened Crookshanks. In all the years Ron had known the beast, erm feline, he had never seen him scared. There was a petty feeling of vindication that Crookshanks was being terrorised by Hugo, his own son. But at the same time, Ron knew it wasn't the proper parenting thing to do, as tempting as it was.

Ignoring his father's comments, Hugo kept on flying and Ron knew what was going to happen before it did. The cat leapt agilely onto the top of a shelf laden with family pictures and Hermione's books. Hugo overcorrected and crashed squarely in the bookshelf. Ron had time to cast a quick Shield Charm before the shelf and its contents fell on Hugo.

"Uh oh," Rose said while Ron ran toward his son and cursed creatively under his breath.

He used a Hover Charm to remove the bookshelf and saw Hugo sit up, a bit dazed but looking healthy and exclaiming happily:

"That was wicked!"

Ron crouched next to him and Rose joined them.

"Hugo, are you all right?" Ron asked, slightly worried.

Hugo turned to face his father fully and Ron's heart stopped when he saw a wide and bloody gash on his son's forehead.

"Merlin's saggy bollocks, your mother is gonna kill me," he said under his breath while gently removing his son's red hair from the wound. "We need to clean that before you get a scar."

"Oh yeah, a scar like Uncle Harry," Rose exclaimed joyously while retrieving some of the photo frames that had fallen with the bookshelf. She showed a random picture of Harry to both of them.

"Look, Hugo, you could look as cool as Uncle Harry. Of course, you would need black hair, not red, but you can have the same cool scar. Daddy, how did Uncle Harry get his scar? Did he hit a bookshelf too while flying on a broom? Was he chasing a cat?"

Ron chuckled, imagining Harry chasing a cat. He knew Rose would keep asking questions until she had answers but he had to tend to Hugo first. He had assessed the cut and realised it was actually much shallower than the initial appearance had indicated.

"No, Harry got hit by a dark curse when he was a baby."

"Wow, what about Uncle Bill? How did he get his scars?" Rose pursued while showing a picture of Bill, Fleur, and their three children.

"Attacked by a werewolf," Ron answered automatically.

Rose picked another picture of George and Angelina.

"What about Uncle George. What happened to his ear?"

Ron was murmuring an incantation to siphon the blood from the wound.

"Another dark curse," he replied laconically.

"And Uncle Charlie? What happened to his arms?"

This time Hugo had asked.

"He works with bloody dragons," Ron said.

"Mum says you can't say bloody unless there is actual blood," Rose admonished him.

Ron took a deep breath. He needed to heal Hugo's gash.

"Rosie, my love, can you please go upstairs and get the bottle that says Dittany on it? It's in Mum's cupboard."

He could have Summoned it but needed some quiet time to deal with Hugo who, incidentally, still smiled gleefully at his exploit and was now rummaging through the books and photos scattered on the floor.

Rose didn't move. She knew her father could use magic to get what he needed. Exasperated, Ron tried bribery:

"All right, if you hurry with the Dittany, I'll give you a chocolate frog."

Enticed by the promise of her favourite sweet, Rose ran upstairs to fetch the ointment. Ron turned back to see Hugo in the middle of the books and photo frames strewn around him. He was actually looking at a book on Ancient Runes, fascinated by the symbols. Ron smiled to himself. Except for being a daredevil on a broom, the kid was so much like his mother. Ron aimed his wand at the cut and murmured a quick incantation to heal it.

"How are you feeling?" he asked Hugo.

"Good," Hugo answered tersely. "I am not sure about Crookshanks, though."

"Fuc... funny Crookshanks," Ron corrected himself quickly. He had agreed with Hermione it would be better to watch his language around the children. "Where is he?"

"Hiding behind the shelf," Hugo pointed. "He doesn't sound happy."

As Hugo said that, Crookshanks jumped out from behind the fallen shelf, hissing wildly, and landed next to them. To show his displeasure, he let his claws out and made a nice scratch mark on Ron's hand, eliciting a yelp of pain.

"Bleeding cat," Ron swore.

"Erm, Daddy, Crookshanks isn't bleeding but you are," Hugo said pointedly.

Crookshanks just walked nonchalantly upstairs, judging the scene in the sitting room unworthy of his attention, now that he had expressed his displeasure. He crossed Rose in the way, who was coming down at the same time with the Dittany in her hand. She stopped a second to pet the cat, who for some reason unknown to Ron, seemed to be very fond of her.

"Here you are, Daddy," she said proudly. "So can I get my chocolate frog now?"

He silenced her with his unscratched hand.

"Rosie, dear, please go get a chocolate frog. We both know you know where I hide them. Bring the box actually."

She went to the kitchen to retrieve the promised treat.

Ron applied some Dittany on Hugo's wound, relieved to see it disappear almost instantly.

"Daddy, you need some on your hand," Hugo pointed out at the scratch marks.

Ron was applying some Dittany to the result of Crookshanks's unhappiness when Rose came back with a full box of chocolate frogs. She looked at her father's hands and asked another question, her mouth full of chocolate.

"Daddy, how did you get the scars on your hands?"

"That beast your mother calls a cat," Ron muttered.

"No, the other ones." She took one of his large hands and pointed to the small arc-shaped scars that had resulted when he had been attacked by a flock of birds.

"Was it a dark curse by a dark wizard?" Rose asked.

"Or a werewolf?" Hugo added.

"Or a dragon or other wild beast?" Rose continued.

Ron chortled, amused by his children's wild imagination.

"Birds. Canaries to be precise," he replied quietly.

"Birds did that to you?" Rose asked.

"Yes. Someone sent them on me because I had done something really bad."

"Oh," Rose answered. "Was it a dark wizard who sent them at you?"

She was like a dog with a bone and wouldn't let go. Ron chuckled.

"No, it wasn't a wizard. It was a witch, a very good witch. Your mum sent them on me."

"Wow, that must have been something really bad that you did," Hugo said.

"It was," Ron replied emphatically but with finality as he could see the cogs turning in Rose's head, wondering what evil thing her father must have done to deserve such a treatment. "Now, what about we put this shelf back together? Then maybe we can go outside and fly a bit, yeah?"

"Can I bring the chocolate frogs?" Rose asked enthusiastically.

"Sure... but no more than three per person," Ron answered as he raised his wand to repair the shelf and erase any trace of the mess that had been. He had things under control or at least he thought so until Hugo asked timidly:

"Dad, what are Merlin's saggy bollocks?"

* * *

><p>Harry yawned as he made his way to the kitchen of the Burrow. He found it amazing to be back in the beloved house, which he realized, was home for him.<p>

Mrs. Weasley was busy cooking. He had noticed she cooked even more than before, busying herself so she wouldn't think of everything else, and mostly Fred. Did she really believe she was fooling anyone? He greeted her:

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley."

"Harry, dear," she told him as she enveloped him in a tight embrace. "Did you sleep well?"

He looked at her. He saw that there was less red in her hair but more around her irises. She had also lost weight and gained a few lines around her eyes.

"Yes," Harry lied. There was no need to burden her with the nightmares he still had. She had enough to deal with her own.

"That's good. Sit down, dear, I've made some scones. And there is some cream and jam if you want."

"Thank you," Harry replied as he took a seat at the table. He opened the newspaper that was lying on the table. He still had trouble believing anything the Daily Prophet wrote, even if it had been three weeks since the Battle. He was nevertheless astonished to see the toad-like face looking at him. Dolores Umbridge looked at him from the front page of the Prophet, her lips moving in what looked like outrage. Harry could imagine her yelling about having order or telling him he deserved to be punished. He could even hear the high pitched girly voice in his head. He instinctively rubbed the tingling white scar on his right hand where the words "I must not tell lies" had been permanently etched.

He read and saw that Umbridge had been caught as she was trying to flee the country. She had been sent to Azkaban after having been charged with crimes against Muggle-born witches and wizards. She was now awaiting trial and would probably be sentenced to life in Azkaban, even if there was a remote possibility she might receive a lighter sentence.

Harry took a look at Mrs. Weasley who had now started magically cleaning an already gleaming kitchen. He remembered how he had found a file on Mr. Weasley and the family in Umbridge's desk at the Ministry. He felt white hot anger course through him and started scratching violently the scar across his hand, willing it to go away.

How many families had Umbridge separated? How many innocent people had she sent to Azkaban, their only crime being born to Muggles? He had heard the Cattermoles had managed to escape after the skirmish at the Ministry and were now back in England, safe and alive. But how many more had not been so lucky?

He felt a loathing for the woman and everything she had represented that was like nothing he had felt before. He noticed he had drawn blood from scratching his skin so roughly. This had not escaped Mrs. Weasley either:

"Harry, Dear, you're bleeding," she told him as she gently took his hand and reached for her wand to heal the scratch.

She saw the scar underneath and made the connection with the article in the paper she had just read herself.

"Harry, she's not worth it. She will serve time in Azkaban," she told him softly.

"They should just throw her there and forget about her," he said testily. "Do you know what she did? Do you know how she treated Muggle-born?"

"Yes, Harry, I do know," she answered solemnly as she put a loving hand on his shoulder. "But she won't be able to do any more harm. Kingsley will make sure of it. So will Arthur. So will I, and, I am sure, so will you."

At hearing Mrs. Weasley's words, Harry made a decision to do everything in his power to ensure Dolores Umbridge never saw life outside of Azkaban ever again. As he resolved himself, he felt the tingling in the scar on his hand abate.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** _For the Remus/Tonks, the scenario just popped into my mind as I started thinking of Harry Potter and scars. It was just meant to be a moment in their life. The Ron-home-alone-with-the-kids snippet was fun to write. And yes, that potty mouth of his may lead him to trouble with kids around... And did I mention I do love Mrs. Weasley too? The Weasley kids are lucky to have such parents._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. If yes, please hit that little review link at the bottom to let me know._


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N**_ I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that I am marking this story as complete with this chapter. While I may add chapters every now and then in the future, it won't be at regular intervals._

_I never thought I would take this story to more than 5 to 10 chapters and here we are 32 chapters later. Amazing how an idea that popped in my head while in the shower (that's where most of them pop into my head) led to so many little stories. The reason I continued for so long is the wonderful encouragements I received from readers, along with great suggestions for chapters. I definitely wouldn't have gone that far with all this support, so a big great thank you to all of you!_

_This chapter is about **sleep**. I am getting a bit crafty here about the picture element and how it mixes with the theme. And fair warning, there are two stories involving sleeping babies (sorry, I was around one during e holidays and that's all I could think of). The second story happens after the story presented in chapter 25 (Growing Up) but it isn't necessary to have read the previous chapter. Finally, the stories go progressively happier, starting with a semi-angsty one and ending with a cute and gentle one. Consider yourself warmed if you don't like babies or cute ;)_

_About the good news: I have finally published the first chapter of a new multi-chapter story. It has been brewing in my mind for months and I finally managed to write the beginning. It is called Crossing Paths and is set after the battle. It explores how the relationship between our three favorite heroes and Draco Malfoy went from loathsome to civil as their paths crossed over the years. It will mostly be from the Ron/Hermione POV but Mr. ferret will have his turn too._

_Anyway, back to this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter. You know what to do..._

_Disclaimer: despite what happens in my wildest dreams, I don't own Harry Potter._

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><p><strong>Sleep<strong>

Lily woke up with a start. She had just had the same horrible nightmare: Voldemort killing James in front of her and then going for Harry, her beloved Harry. As her breathing returned to a more even pace, she felt James's familiar shape and warmth next to her, his arm still wrapped around her waist, completely oblivious to the terrifying nightmare his wife had just had.

She gently extracted herself from his embrace so as not to wake him up. She briefly took a look at the photo sitting on her bedside table, of a happy raven-haired toddler riding a broomstick. Harry just zoomed back and forth, blatantly gleeful at being on the moving toy. Her heart felt both unending love and fear for her son.

She quickly got out of bed and reached for her wand. She made her way to Harry's cot, just a few feet away. She had refused to let him sleep in another room. She lit her wand with a dim light and looked at the toddler soundly asleep in his cot. Harry was so peaceful in sleep. His eyes, so much like hers, were closed, long black lashes fluttering lightly as he seemed to be in the middle of a dream. She saw a mild smile gracing his tiny lips, the same one he would give her, along with long hugs and sloppy kisses. He must have been dreaming of happy things, completely oblivious to the dark threat that had been cast upon his life.

As she watched his chest gently rise and fall, Lily remembered all she had to endure to bring him into this world. Birthing a child was no joke but it was so worth it. She tenderly pulled the gold and red blanket over him to keep him warm. He was so beautiful, so innocent. Her mind still reeled from the revelation that her sweet little Harry could be the target of the most dangerous dark wizard of all times, all this because of a stupid prophecy. Who could be so evil as to want to harm an innocent child?

Lily stroked Harry's messy black hair tenderly and almost jumped when she felt James gently rest his hand on her shoulder and ask her quietly:

"Is something the matter with Harry?"

"No, he is sleeping," she replied in the same hushed tone.

"Good," James said in a long yawn.

James bent down to kiss his sleeping son's forehead and murmuring he loved him.

Lily did the same and followed James back to bed.

As she lay her head down on the pillow, comfortably snuggled against James, she thought of how they had gone into hiding to protect their only son. And she knew she would do a lot more to protect Harry. She wouldn't hesitate to die if it meant the boy sleeping a few feet away could survive. There had never been a doubt in her mind.

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><p>Hermione felt drained. It had been a long and emotional conversation with her parents and then her father had left the room in obvious anger. Anger that his daughter had used magic to alter his memory. Anger that she had been hurt and that he had not been able to protect her. Anger simply that she had grown up all of a sudden, whether it had been her choice or not. He had come back and they had made up but she knew it would take time for her relationship with her parents to completely mend.<p>

And now she was back in what had been her bedroom for so many years. As she perused the spacious and well lit room, she wished for a second that she could pretend that the past seven years had never existed. Well, no, that wasn't a good idea, she thought as she looked at Harry and Ron, each flanking her. If the past seven years had not existed, she wouldn't have met the two persons that now meant so much to her.

Neither one had ever been in her room. It was odd. She had spent too many stays at the Burrow to count and had even been to Privet Drive in Surrey but they had never been to her house until now. She saw Harry look around, as if confirming his vision of his best friend's room. Ron seemed awed. Her room had a computer and a CD player, and many other fascinating Muggle artifacts as she had rid the room of all traces of her belonging to the magical world at the same time she had altered her parents' memories. Ron reminded her so much of his father at the moment.

She saw Ron peruse the shelves full of books: her collection of Dickens, Shakespeare, Joyce, Austen, Elliott, Hugo, and many other classics. She saw him take a book off the shelf and was both mortified and touched that she still had it. It was "Sleeping Beauty", the exact same book her mother had read to her over and over when she had been five. The reason being that Hermione had questioned every part of the tale. Why was princess Aurora sleeping so much? And why hadn't she been given the gift of cleverness?

"Is that one of the Muggle tales you mentioned?" Ron asked her.

He opened the book and leafed through until he found the picture of what looked like a young woman lying on a bed, sleeping soundly. It stirred a memory of something Hermione had mentioned when she inherited Dumbledore's copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard; some Muggle fairy tale about a girl sleeping for a long time.

"Sleeping Beauty," Hermione replied.

"What's the story?" Ron asked, his curiosity suddenly piqued.

"Seriously? You want to know about Muggle fairy tales?"

"Well, yes," Ron admitted.

He was intrigued by what tales Muggles were telling their children. He wondered what stories Hermione had listened to while growing up. Having just seen her parents had reminded him that Hermione had had a whole life outside of their world.

"Fine. Harry, why don't you tell him about Sleeping Beauty?"

Harry looked embarrassed.

"Hermione, I don't know the story. I've heard the name but it's not like the Dursleys read fairy tales to me."

"All right," she relented.

She started explaining the story to them and then declared:

"This has to be one of the worst tales ever told."

"Why is that?" Ron asked.

"Let's see," she started counting on her fingers, "first, why is it that the fairies give the gift of beauty and song before they even think about giving her the gift of a good brain? Maybe she would have had the sense not to touch the end of a spindle then. And then she just spends the entire time sleeping while she is conveniently being saved by her prince charming. Imagine a story where the main protagonist is asleep for most of it. Imagine if Harry had been asleep throughout the last year."

She had said all this without taking a breath and saw that both Ron and Harry were looking at one another with mirroring smirks on their face, oddly similar to the way they had when she had admonished them about not doing their homework until the last minute when they had been at Hogwarts. She was about to continue her tirade when Harry asked her in mock-offence.

"Wait, Hermione, are you comparing me to a fairy tale princess?"

"You certainly didn't get the gift of beauty, mate," Ron told him grinning broadly. "And forget about the gift of song. I heard you sing in the shower. It's bloody pathetic."

Hermione had to smile too but she wasn't done with her trashing of the tale and its blatant stereotypes.

"What about the magic presented? Why is the older witch evil? And why are dragons presented in such a dark light?"

"Right, Harry joked, slightly amused by Hermione's passionate outburst about a child fairy tale. Because dragons are fluffy and cuddly. I am sure if you had written the tale, the princess would probably have ridden the dragon to save the prince and escape."

"And she probably would have adopted the dragon as a pet or started a new movement called SPUD, Society for the Protection of Unchained Dragons," Ron chimed in.

That earned both Ron and Harry a slap on the arm but Hermione started smiling a bit broader.

"Oh, stop it, both of you."

But she was now laughing too and realised she was no longer feeling as drained as she had after talking with her parents. Nothing like self-deprecation and Ron and Harry. Who would have thought she would ever get a laugh out of silly fairy tale about a sleeping princess?

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><p>A quiet whine echoed in the silent night. Automatically, Hermione's eyes opened. She was exhausted but her body seemed to be tuned in to any noise coming from the little being sleeping in the adjacent room. She quickly got out of bed and noticed that Ron was still in deep slumber, obviously impervious to the light cries that announced his daughter was hungry.<p>

As he had mentioned earlier, he was missing the equipment to satisfy that need, namely breasts. Breasts that were currently aching and full of milk, Hermione thought somewhat sardonically.

She went to Rose's room and gently lifted the month-old baby from her cot. She heard Rose babble and cry at the same time:

"I know, I know, Rose. You're hungry," Hermione soothed her. "You are such your father's daughter," she added with a smile as she installed both of them in a comfortable armchair. She opened the flap of her nightgown and offered the heavy breast Rose was seeking. The baby latched on and started suckling greedily as her mother gently stroked her light red curls.

After Rose finished eating, Hermione kept her in her arms, lulling her to sleep. Hermione felt utterly relaxed and it wasn't long before her own eyelids started drooping and sleep overtook her.

Ron woke up. He had felt Hermione get out of bed, likely to feed Rose, but he hadn't felt her come back. Groggily, he rose and went to check Rose's room. There, he found his wife and daughter soundly asleep in the old and comfortable armchair. He felt a surge of love for the pair of them at seeing them so beautiful and quiet in their sleep.

Slowly, he took Rose out of Hermione's arms and into his own. His little girl. He gently put her back in her cot, tenderly adjusting a soft hand-knitted blanket over the sleeping baby, before kissing her forehead.

He then took a still sleeping Hermione into his arms and carried her to their bed. He was about to fall back to sleep when he heard Rose starting to wail. Hermione shot up automatically.

"That's all right, Love," he told her. "I've got her. Go back to sleep."

Hermione seemed to accept this and dropped her head back on the pillow, causing a half grin to grow on his face.

He went back to Rose's room and lifted the baby from her cot. She was crying in earnest. He started bouncing her while walking, something that usually calmed her down, but she kept wailing. His nose finally caught up that it was just a dirty nappy. He hated the bloody things. Why was it that babies didn't come knowing how to use the loo properly?

Reluctantly, he lowered the baby back on her bed and attacked the offending nappy with the same disgust he would have felt if he had had to kiss Draco Malfoy. Thankfully, there was a charm to clean the mess up. He closed the now clean nappy back and thought Rose would just go back to sleep but she had other plans in mind. She was still wailing. Defeated, Ron took his daughter back in his arms and sat in the armchair. He swung her gently, humming quietly a nursery rhyme his own mother had sung to him years ago. After a few minutes, Rose had gone back to sleep, and so had Ron, his daughter still securely snuggled in his arms.

That's how Hermione found them a few hours later as morning came. She smiled tenderly at the picture Ron and Rose offered, soundly asleep in the armchair. She then reached for the camera that had seen so much use since Rose's birth and snapped a photo she knew she would treasure for years to come.

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><p><strong>AN** _i thought that was anice way to end this. I hope you enjoyed!_


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